The Participants—A Baker's Dozen To Go

Except for the married couples, the 12 of us were strangers to each other. We came from far and wide:

Albert was the "elder statesman" of our group, 66 years old, tall and fit. He had trained diligently for the trip but was having last minute worries about his ability to make it all the way. He stated, in a positive manner, that if he got to Lake Louise and the Continental Divide he would make it to Newfoundland. Albert's bike was a hybrid, newly purchased for the trip. He'd chosen this style of bike because his back wasn't as supple as it once was and the hybrid's geometry allowed him to sit fairly upright;

Randy and Patti were a married couple from northern British Columbia, the small town of Smithers. They were in their early forties. Bringing a pair of mountain bikes, they initially intended to ride a tandem but had abandoned that idea when Patti's back started acting up during training sessions. Randy, once a competitive cyclist, had put on a few pounds since his teenage years. Patti looked to be in good shape;

The other married couple were Ken and Annette, from Nepean, Ontario. Seasoned cyclists, they had cycled together extensively, touring parts of Europe and camping as they went. Ken was riding a custom-built Marinoni touring bike; Annette had a Miyata touring bike. Ken was 66, Annette 61;

Christine was the only other Albertan, from Calgary. She was 22, eager to ride and a most pleasant person. Christine also had chosen a hybrid bike, with a few modifications. The original tires had been switched for narrower road tires; she had replaced the flat handlebars with road bike drop bars; and she'd mounted an aerobar, such as commonly seen on triathlete bikes;

Marny, 32, came from Toronto, Ontario. She was cheery and upbeat. Marny had also bought a new bike for the ride, a sport-touring Trek equipped with triple chainrings. It was a very light bike and looked to be perfect for the trip;

James, also from Toronto, arrived a few minutes into our introductory meeting, having just disembarked from the Victoria ferry and cycled to the campus from the dock. He was 25, fit-looking and brimming with enthusiasm. Much thought had gone into his bicycle choice—whether to ride his road bike or his mountain bike. The latter won out, but he once remarked that there were times when he wished he was on the other. James was young and strong, and I knew he wouldn't have any problems with the heavier mountain bike. James' bike initially had knobby tires mounted on the wheels;

Paddy was the third person from the Toronto area. Full of smiles, 27 years old, she was an experienced traveller, having cycled in two or three countries in the Far East. Her beautiful little mountain bike was very light and new-looking. Paddy cycled regularly in big-city traffic and had no fear of city riding. A trip this long was to be a new experience for her;

Ray was a 35 year-old high-school principal from Wabowden, Manitoba. He had ridden with this touring company in 1993, and was back to do it again. Then, as now, he would have to cut the trip a bit short, likely at Montreal, returning home to prepare for the following school year. Ray's bike was similar to mine, a Cannondale touring bike;

Bob, 57, was from Los Angeles, California. Two days away from retiring when the trip began, he reported in to work on the trip's second day, departing his job minutes later having now qualified for his pension. He joined us at Hope, B.C., late on Day Two. Bob had the only pure racing bike of our group, a bright red Kestrel. It was light, sleek, and fast. Bob was tall, thin and wiry—an excellent cyclist;

I was 53 in the summer of '96. Mentally I was ready. I had trained well, and was impatient to clear Vancouver and be underway. The variety of bikes intrigued me. It had always seemed logical to me that if one was going to ride a long distance on paved highways one would immediately choose a road bike. Furthermore, if the ride was going to be a tour then the selection would automatically be a touring bike. (This no doubt explains why I bought a touring bike very shortly after I joined the Edmonton Bicycle and Touring Club.) Obviously, not everyone thought the same. My bike was a T-700 Cannondale with 50/38/26 chainrings and a 12-26 7-cog Shimano LX cassette. The cogset was brand new; my headset was new in early May; and my tires were new Specialized Touring Mk II Kevlar belted. My saddle was an Avocet Gel M-30. I carried two brand-new Shimano chains that I planned to alternate each rest day, approximately every 800 kms. The shop mechanic told me this would greatly reduce wear on the cogs and ensure smooth, worry free shifting. I believe it worked as I had no chain problems and never had to adjust my derailleur settings; and,

Jeff, our support driver, who was the 13th person in our group. Jeff was a college student with a somewhat unique job this summer. He had a fun outlook on life, although a bit different from most. Jeff, 22, was fully capable of making the many tough decisions that would confront him along the way. We were fortunate to have him as our driver. Jeff brought along an older 10-speed bike for his personal transportation but was really not a cyclist. He was the only person who smoked but showed tremendous courtesy throughout the trip, never doing so in a bothersome manner.

Orientation Day

Following introductions, Bud, the tour director, talked us through the entire route, offering advice on worrisome spots. Bud mentioned a few tricks learned from previous year's participants that would make life on the road easier. He fielded our many questions, such as "Must we follow your route exactly?" Summing everything up, Bud said "We are all free spirits, the route was his best recommendation, and he knew it worked."

To properly introduce us to the van's facilities and capabilities, Bud and Jeff prepared our meals that day. We helped them pack the van with bulk food stores, primarily the pasta, cereal, and fruits that would provide most of our nutritional requirements during the trip. We were to do our own cooking en route so we divided into teams, deciding that four teams of 3 was the best combination. Luckily, Randy and Patti immediately invited me to join with them.

This pleased me immensely! Now I could relax and concentrate on doing the menial cooking chores without having to worry about poisoning anyone with pathetic attempts at actual cooking. Patti was indeed a great cook, and as a team we worked very well together.

Clothing and equipment limits were: two baskets per person, each 12" wide, 18" long and 10" deep (supplied). The rented Ryder cube-van's floor doubled as storage space for our tents and sleeping bags during the day while carrying them forward to the prearranged campsite.

Chatting over a beer in the campus lounge that evening we compared our training distances. All agreed that this spring's Canada-wide rotten weather had made it most difficult to attain the recommended 2,000 kilometres. I just made it, pedalling nearly 1200 km in the final four weeks. Albert, when you expressed your worries and fears earlier in the day be assured that you weren't alone. Each of us had our secret doubts about cycling this great distance but we all put on a brave front.

* * * * *

The day had moved on and it was about 1500 hrs when I found myself arriving at the town of Mission, British Columbia, somewhat ahead of the others. Asking directions to our day's destination, the Municipal Park campgrounds, I learned there were no campgrounds in town. No Municipal Park, either. After much help from a wonderful lady in a convenience store, and several phone calls later, I connected with a person at the town Recreation Centre. They were expecting us and gave me directions to the correct spot. As Murphy's Law might have it, once things begin to go wrong the degeneration continues. Directions to the Centre were fine. I just didn't follow them very well. Consequently, I rode up and down the town's big hill more than once before eventually finding my way to the Recreation Centre. A couple others also had a difficult time finding their way to the Rec Centre but after we advised the town's Tourist Bureau where to direct the remaining TDC riders the confusion ended.

It had been warm that day and I was wearing my usual garb—Lycra cycling shorts and jersey. Eventually arriving at the Rec Centre I locked my bike to a pipe stand and wandered around the building until I found the cashier's booth. I introduced myself as a member of the bicycling group who were to be staying there that night. The lady gave me an odd look, then broke into a grin that expanded into a big laugh. "Oh..." she said. "You are one of the bikers that we were expecting. You are bicycle riders. We were picturing a bunch of big, tough motorcycle riders. Well, welcome to Mission. I'll get my supervisor who will direct you to your campsite." From then on I was careful to refer to our group as cyclists rather than bikers. The conveyed image is obviously somewhat different.

It turned out to be an interesting location. We were camping in the middle of a lumberjack-contest area, on a sawdust base, beside the Rec Centre. Having free use of the pool, hot tub and showers and treated royally by the staff, it proved to be excellent. Our cooking group, Patti, Randy and I, was responsible for supper tonight—the first one on the road. Randy and I, doing what we could with our limited talents helped Patty make chilli and a green salad. Mostly the salad. Obviously very successful, it disappeared so quickly it was necessary to set some aside for Ken and Annette, who arrived about 1915 hrs.

The difficulty of finding this campsite was a concern to all. Was this an omen of poor planning and many difficulties ahead during the next two months? Our worries were needless. Bud did an excellent job with arrangements and locations and we seldom encountered other difficulties. In fairness to Bud, our support driver, Jeff, had a busy day, first driving Ken to the airport and then shopping for supplies. Consequently, he arrived later than most cyclists. The only cycling problem that day was Christine's flat tire and subsequent fall, giving her the first outbreak of roadrash. Nothing serious.

The town was using the Centre for graduation ceremonies that night, but the hundreds of people and their vehicles did not disturb us. Most of us were in our tents (sleeping?) by 9 o'clock. Jeff pinned a quotation on the notice board mounted on the van's rear door, as he tried to do daily for the trip's duration. We were to gain great insight into Jeff through these quotes, as the vast majority of them were Jeff originals, thoughts he had as he went about his tasks. We looked forward to his wisdom and humour. The day ended as many were going to do—Jeff and me chatting over a beer, Christine still up and about busily reading and writing, and all the others repairing to their tents about 2030 hrs. One day done. We were on our way.

Let's Hope..

The harsh noise of the yellow Ryder van's shutter-style rear door opening and rolling upwards broke the night's silence. Everyone woke up. It was early. Like 0600 hrs. Ken and Annette were getting their day started. (Their early starts continued for the trip's duration, causing me some discontent.) Patti, our team cook, prepared a breakfast of porridge, ably assisted by Randy and me. We fetched the water. Galley duty consisted of preparing supper at night, making breakfast the next day, doing the dishes after both supper and breakfast, loading the van in the morning, then riding sweep that day. Each cyclist was responsible for their own lunch. Supplied luncheon foodstuffs consisted mainly of peanut butter (PB) and jam for sandwiches, supplemented with fresh fruit, replenished regularly.

Unable to find my bicycle computer this morning I reluctantly started without it, knowing that already, by just the second day, my total recorded mileage was going to be incorrect. I decided immediately that I had to get more organized, put all my stuff away in the same place every night and get into some sort of routine.

Day Two was short—only 78 km to Hope. The co-ordinator's method was to start the trip slowly, averaging 100 km/day from Vancouver to Banff then picking up the pace once everyone was in better shape and the terrain flattened out. (Our daily average for the entire trip would be 131 kilometres.) All riders were away by 0830 hrs with Randy, Patti and me riding sweep (tail-end Charlie), our final duty as cooking team until the next rotation four days hence.

A light drizzle had started during the night and now continued throughout the morning. The day was still cool and damp when the three of us stopped for lunch in Agassi, at a real pleasant little park. The folks who ran the adjacent information bureau were most friendly, and the warmth of the shelter was delightful. The remainder of that day was uneventful. We got into Hope in mid-afternoon, setting up at a wooded campground beside the Fraser River. Christine had flatted again during the day and was talking about getting rid of her Continental tires but we assured her it was purely bad luck. Both punctures were legitimate, not low-pressure "snake bites" nor any weakness of the tire itself. Indeed, she was then flat-free for several weeks.

I found my computer! Wrapped away in a pocket of my tent, it fell at my feet during set-up. What colour was my red face?

Bob joined us here in Hope, arriving after a swift trip from Los Angeles that day. Just hours ago he had retired after punching-in to work that morning, thereby qualifying for his pension. He pulled up in a taxi-van about 1900 hrs, barely in time to get the last bit of supper. Greeting him warmly, helping him unpack and set up, we all ooohed and aaahed when Bob unloaded his bike—a fine, bright-red, light-as-a-feather Kestrel. We looked at his two big road chainrings (39/52) with no granny gear, and his extremely skinny tires, wondering silently if he really knew he was about to cross a vast continent. But he proved to be up to it all. Bob was strong and climbed well, but once noted in retrospect that he would select different gears if he was to do it again. I was helping Bob reassemble his bike when we discovered that the stem, turned 90º to meet airport rules for bicycle loading, wouldn't return to centre. We both twisted on the bars, separately and together, using all our strength. The stem refused to budge. Bob said that when turning the bars sideways at the check-in desk he had given them a big twist and they sort of "snapped" around. Now, however, they had really "frozen" into place, turned completely sideways. One last try, and as we both grunted with the effort there was a loud "snap" and they jerked to straight dead-ahead. Looking at each other, we were not quite sure what had happened. Tightening the Allen-keyed bolt on the stem and locking it into position Bob remarked that it might be quite a job if he ever had to remove the stem for repairs.

After reading Jeff's quotation for the day we went to bed with Annette's worries about tomorrow ringing in our ears. It would be our longest day yet, 133 km, and we'd be negotiating the many tunnels of the Fraser Canyon.

Hell's Gate

Leaving the gently sloping portion of the Fraser Valley at Hope, we started the climb up the river's narrow canyon towards our day's destination—the town of Spence's Bridge.

I was riding with Paddy, Randy and his wife Patti, Ray, Marny and Albert. By stopping to flag traffic at each tunnel entrance I was slowing it at least somewhat while the others rode through. I then followed, sprinting through at the first traffic break. It worked well until the last tunnel prior to reaching Hell's Gate. Hurrying through after the others a scary sight awaited me. Marny was helping Paddy to her feet, in the middle of the traffic lane, close to the tunnel's end. Quickly getting Paddy and her bike off the road and out of the tunnel, we took stock. She had fallen heavily but appeared to be okay, except for some roadrash. We later figured that two things had caused the fall: Her wheels had dropped off the asphalt's right edge into the 2' wide concrete gutter; and a loose headset had slipped when she wrenched the bars to the left while trying to remount the asphalt. The bars turned—the wheel did not. Paddy had only a slight headache, lasting just a few minutes. Her helmet, however, had a fist-sized portion smashed out above her left ear. The mandatory helmet's value was no longer in question.

Coasting down the remaining 200 metres to the commercial establishment at Hell's Gate, we joined the rest of our group who were sight-seeing and buying souvenirs. A young fellow who had witnessed Paddy's fall got her some water, talking to us about the condition of the pavement. He, too, had fallen in almost the same place a couple of weeks earlier. Appreciating the trepidation that some of our riders might be feeling about continuing through the last and longest tunnel, nearly one kilometre in length, he offered to escort us through. He would drive behind us using his 4-way flashers and effectively block traffic, securing the lane for our use. Naturally jumping at the offer we enjoyed a carefree ride with only the echoes of our voices (and a few car horns) to scare us. A friendly beep of his horn as we returned to daylight and he left us to continue onward and upward.

The day was dry and continually warming as we gained altitude approaching the hot, arid interior of the province. We left the Fraser River at Laden and followed the Thompson River along Hwy 1 to the Thompson River Recreation Vehicle (RV) Park, located just south of the town of Spence's Bridge. We baked as we rode, trapped between scrub-covered walls of rock and sand, under searing sunshine.

This RV park was beautiful—great showers, grass like a golf course. Our tent site was a quiet, undisturbed setting downstream from the RV units which were parked on the upstream side of the office building. The park was full of top-of-the-line RVs whose owners were obviously folks who expected only the best for their money. At this park they got good value. The shower facilities were like those of a fine motel, having ceramic walls, more than ample changing-room space, etc. There was a very clean and well setup laundromat where I washed my riding clothes for the first of countless times. Bud supplied bulk laundry soap, now repacked into a large plastic pail, like many other items. Magic marker on the lids identified the contents of each. These first few days it was challenging to find anything in the van, there were so many similar pails. They tended to change location whenever used by someone so it was always a matter of asking "Has anyone any idea where I can find... whatever?" But slowly, we were all storing things more or less in their own places. We thought.

The downside of this fine RV Park were the railroads—our special and constant companions since Day One. In this park they really were special! We were bedded down in a narrow valley flanked by sandy, sagebrush-covered hills. On one side were the rails of the Canadian National Railroad and the other ran those of the Canadian Pacific Railroad. The trains rolled all night. Of course there was a road-crossing or two nearby. The clickety-clack of the wheels and the occasional shunting of rail cars only added to the din of the diesel locomotive's engines, and their horns sounding several times an hour, every hour as they approached each crossing. Finally the trains stopped. It was late. What time was it? Most people refer to this hour of the day as dawn.

Despite the trains we slept more soundly than any of us would admit, as the day's 133 km of mostly uphill pedalling had left us all exhausted. Today we'd climbed the first big hill of the trip. Bud calls it "Jackass Mountain,"—a steep 2-km climb that caused me to get out of the saddle and stand on the pedals for the first time. Everyone had made it just fine, but it was a reminder that big hills were definitely in our future.

Short, But Rough

The next day was short, just 78 km to Merritt. We travelled almost due east on Highway 8, riding all day alongside the Nicola River. The road surface was rough pavement, basically oiled gravel. There were a few short, steep hills to climb, but in general it was an easy day. Good thing, too. Yesterday had fried my legs. Tomorrow's ride would be over a watershed into Kamloops, and beyond, some 137 km. I worried about it. However, this quiet, back-country road was perfect for riding a paceline. Eight or nine of us formed one, travelling several kilometres in close contact until the hills separated us. Then two of us, Bob and I, rode together for the rest of the day, during which time it became apparent that we travel well together. He is a bit quicker on the flats, I'm a bit stronger uphill and we both like to stop briefly about once an hour, taking longer breaks every second hour. (We continued to ride together through much of B.C.'s flatter parts and right across the prairies.) Bob's frozen headset was worrying him—he feared it might release without warning, dumping him off the bike. However, he had no choice but to continue riding, hoping for the best. The pounding of today's rough road surface surely would have caused it to let go if anything would, so by nightfall he had come to believe that the headset would remain secure until trip's end.

No accidents today—we're getting better. The coarse asphalt had many of us complaining of sore, almost bruised hands. Some riders are still adjusting their saddle heights, and the knobby tires have all been replaced with slicks. I have used my Gore-Tex suit (purchased from Mountain Equipment Co-op) and loved it. My tent, a Jack Wolfskin design, has worked like a charm so far. (It never leaked). A TDC cycling jersey I bought at the trip's beginning was very comfortable: It wicked well, was cool, and the solid white colour was highly visible. (Clothing that can stay almost dry on me is truly special stuff!) I wore this TDC jersey more than any other.

Two things concerned Annette that night—the big hill leading into Kamloops and tomorrow's distance of 137 km. Again it would be longer than any previous day.

Friends

Leaving Merritt on Canada Day, July 1, it was hot and dry.

Bob (see photo at right) and I stopped at the classic old hotel at Quilchena where we drooled over a fantastic breakfast being eaten by a honeymoon couple dining on the patio while soaking up the early morning sun. After admiring the rustic interior we each bought a couple of postcards. Returning to the road we delighted in the strong tailwind blowing up the Nicola Valley. I just hung on to Bob's wheel as he pulled me along at 35-45 km/hour. Sunshine, tailwinds, beautiful scenery. A cyclist's nirvana! Eventually we had to work a bit while climbing the steep, two-kilometre hill leading out of the valley, but our view during lunch at the top, overlooking the plateau, was grand.

We then plunged down into Kamloops. I simply couldn't believe the way the road just keep dropping away before us. With the strong crosswinds keeping us at reasonable (55-60 kph) speeds on the multilane road we quickly dropped some 6 km until finally reaching the Trans-Canada Highway entrance ramp. Leaning hard into the turn and maintaining my speed I swooped to the right, merging onto the shoulder of the busy four-lane roadway. In my rearview mirror I saw Bob pull over and stop. Unsure of his problem, I reluctantly braked to a stop at the shoulder's edge. Joining me a few moments later he looked at me and said "You just rode onto the freeway at over 50 km/hr and didn't even hesitate." Thinking perhaps I had taken a wrong turn I confirmed with him that this was our route, then I wondered if he had a problem with high-speed traffic? He said "No," so I took off again. He followed, but remained quite far back. And cautious. I still don't know exactly what he found so unusual but he again remarked at supper that I just cruised onto the freeway at high speed.

While in Kamloops I was hoping to meet a couple of my Banff school-day buddies now living there, but phone calls went unanswered. I reasoned they were at their cabins, close-by on the Shuswap Lakes. Bob and I continued towards the campground at Pritchard. About 3 km before our destination a car pulled over onto the opposite shoulder and my friend John Farris leaned out to greet me. We had a good chat over a beer. My other friend, Pat Anderson, arrived a short time later and bought the next round. Their work schedules precluded a longer visit but it was great to see them again. Because today was once again my cooking rotation, Albert and Christine willingly pitched in for me while I reminisced. In exchange I volunteered to do the breakfast dishes for them on their next cooking day because they both liked to get an early start in the mornings. Although we've only been together for five days, already we were beginning to feel and act like family.

111 Kilometres and A Rest

The hot and dry weather continued as we headed out to Sicamous, 110 km away. By now we were fairly settled-in to our individual and group routines. Ken and Annette would get up first, make coffee and start the breakfast preparations. James was always up last, often barely making it to breakfast before the duty crew dumped whatever remained so they could wash the dishes. Bob and I often agreed to do the breakfast dishes and load the van so that those on duty could get an earlier start. Albert and Christine in particular preferred an early start so they could reach the day's destination close to the same time as everyone else. This morning Christine and I made a deal that she would assist with preparing breakfast on all my cooking days and I would do the dishes on all her days.

This was our sixth successive cycling day and the final one before our first rest day. And a great day it was, riding beside the Shuswap Lakes through the Okanagan Valley's north end. With a tailwind, even. Bob and I rode together all day, with him pulling the majority of the time on the flats and me pulling him up the hills. Frequently I'd remain at the front during the following descent because I coasted faster. My bulk and heavier bike greatly outweighed slim Bob and his light bike. We had lunch in Salmon Arm where Bob began another ritual—that of finding a Tim Hortons for lunch. It seemed that the daily fare of peanut butter and jam (or honey) sandwiches, which was the only food Bud's budget provided for lunches, was already getting to him. I sat outside, eating my sandwiches in the sun and its enjoying warmth, while he ate inside. Once finished, we continued onwards together.

Another flat tire on the road today—this time it was Patti. She had ridden over some glass and cut her tire somewhat. I helped Randy patch the tire, putting a strip of gun tape inside it (gun tape is a military version of duct tape, but more cloth-like) and it held just fine. (Indeed it held until we reached mid-Saskatchewan.) Later that evening in camp, Albert's bike was leaning against a fence when one of his tires went flat. A most peculiar thing. The valve had somehow torn away from the tube, which isn't unusual, but it had not gone flat until the bike was at rest, which is unusual. While pumping up the newly-installed tube Albert broke off the slender stem inside the Presta valve, which meant installing a third tube.

The group "elected" me as group spokesman, representing the group to Jeff should the group as a whole have any complaints (or suggestions) for improvements. Prompting this was my complaining about the very early morning rising of Ken and Annette. A few others supported my desire to sleep-in a bit longer. We agreed to a compromise and nothing reached Jeff. Morale really was high—this was about the only thing anyone had yet found to complain about.

Here in Sicamous our base was a grassy soccer pitch beside the town's hockey arena, using the building's dressing room's showers. The rink was bare cement. Painters were busy in many areas refurbishing the walls for the next season. It was a good setup—our support vehicle was outside on the asphalt by the Zamboni entrance, hooked to the building's power and water. The lush soccer pitch held our tents.

Cooking and cleanups during rest days, we decided, would be a group affair. After supper, when Bob and I were dumping the tub of grey dishwater into the Zamboni pit, I noticed a flash of silver. Yelling at Bob to stop pouring, we saved the final two or three utensils in the tub before they disappeared into the depths. At breakfast the next day it was quickly apparent what had gone missing. Thus began the great spoon chase. Several folks had similar sets of cutlery so no one knew exactly whose spoons went into the pit. From then on it was first-come first-served for spoons.

A chance remark by James, something about him noticing that each of us pedalled at different speeds, led into a discussion of proper pedalling techniques and cadence. (Cadence is the number of revolutions per minute [rpm] a cyclist's pedals go around.) James, it seems, was an aspiring racer, eager to learn and to practice the best techniques possible while he was on this trip. Conventional wisdom generally has it that spinning is the most efficient way to pedal over long distances. Spinning means keeping the cadence somewhere above 90 rpm, with racers often holding their cadence at 115-120. Ray, Bob and Ken all confirmed this, remarking that I seemed to pedal just a bit faster than Bob, and the two of us appreciably faster than the rest of the group.

"I always have my bicycle computer showing the 'cadence' mode," I said "and strive to maintain a 95-100 cadence. Except when I get bogged-down climbing hills. Then it falls off as I run out of power."

Bob said he wasn't sure at what actual number he pedalled but thought it was around 90. I agreed, having ridden with him this past couple of days. Studies indicate that if a cyclist is "pushing" a bigger gear (feeling pressure or work being done by the quadriceps muscles) then the gear is likely too big. When pushing like this over long stretches the muscles tend to tire and efficiency falls off. However, if the cyclist gears down somewhat and maintains the same speed by increasing the cadence, the legs do not feel any pressure but produce the same power. This allows the muscle strength to last much longer. Since spinning demands more oxygen, the cyclist may become short of breath. Finding the perfect compromise between the two gear selections makes fast cycling an art. Obviously, the fitness of the cyclist determines the length of time that the higher cadence may be sustained.

This cycling technique was unknown to some of our group, while others remarked that they had been working to raise their cadence to around the 90 rpm mark. James resolved to make 90 his natural rhythm by the end of the trip.

Just before supper Ken and Annette had visitors, family on Annette's side, departing with them until the following evening.

That night Ray reminded us of something mentioned at our initial briefing. It seems that the only bicycle theft in the Tour's history was here in Sicamouse in 1993, during Ray's previous Tour du Canada trip. So we gathered all the bikes beside the van, interlaced the previously unused 40' steel cable through them, locked it and pulled a tarp over them. This became our standard nightly practice. Albert did it religiously.

Reaching downtown Sicamous was about a 10 minute walk. About 1930 hrs Jeff, Ray and I went to Brother's Bar for some suds. My recommendation in this part of Canada has to be the Mount Baglie Creamy Ale. Remarking that this definitely wasn't a party crowd we expressed hope that perhaps at least a couple of the others might join us on future evenings. Ray had to get up early to catch a bus back to Manitoba, so he left early. For me, fatigue from the past six days' effort had caught up to me. As much as I wanted to party and celebrate our success thus far, 2230 hrs was about as long as I could manage. With my head beginning to nod and my blinks stretching to several seconds, Jeff and I left the bar together. The town's streets were silent during our walk "home," and before long I was settling into my tent, happily knowing that the next day wasn't going to be in the saddle. I planned to catch up on my laundry, do a bit of shopping, and generally just rest up.

Rest Day

Rest Day in Sicamous wasn't even close to what we'd hoped for. The small town has about 2,600 residents, with very limited shopping available. My first chore was bike cleaning. Then I removed the chain, replacing it with the second, identical chain I'd brought. The special Shimano pin slid readily into place without causing any problems with a "stiff link." Too easy! Overnight my computer had gone dead but I found a replacement battery in a camera shop, restoring it to life. Of course this meant that the accumulated 653 kms were history. Consoling myself for misplacing it earlier, I now accepted that it wouldn't have had the correct total mileage in any event. (But I was angry about the battery dying—the computer was new in May. I guess it had sat too long on the shelf.)

Ray made his bus, leaving for a week to attend an important school meeting at home in Waboden, Manitoba. He would rejoin us in Beiseker, Alberta.

Looking for the laundry soap to fill my individual container pending a trip to the town's laundromat, I asked Albert if he had any idea where to find the bulk soap. He pointed out a pail. Opening it and dumping the small amount of soap remaining in my container into the pail, I scooped up a bunch for today's use. Whoa! This stuff is pure white, while the soap I used in Spence's Bridge was blue. Asking Albert if he was sure that this was soap, he said yes, he was sure. When I suggested that our laundry soap was blue, someone else in the van confirmed "Blue." Albert said "I'm sure that this is laundry soap, because I just used it to wash my clothes." A bit more searching turned up a pail of blue stuff, its lid labelled laundry soap. A taste test confirmed it. The soap had been repacked into a bean pail on orientation day. What Albert had just washed his clothes in was, in fact, flour. I wondered if this was, perhaps, the secret of the hippies' flour power? We lost a small portion of the flour when separating out the soap I'd mistakenly dumped into it, but no real harm done. Such was the fun of the first week or so, getting settled in.

So off I rode into town, my blue soap and a bag of laundry over my shoulder. While waiting for the wash to finish, I phoned home. All was well in Edmonton but their weather had been much worse than ours. Our hot weather had caused my feet to develop a heat rash, and the stink would kill a skunk. I bought some foot powder and blasted my shoes and feet. Much better! (This became a daily practice.) There are some great things about tenting alone. I could suffer and be embarrassed by my foot odour without anyone else being bothered or aware of it. Unfortunately, the same can't be said about my snoring.

One by one everybody showed up at the laundromat and we wandered around town, shopping and sizing up the restaurants. None looked really great. Six of us later tried a steak house, enjoying the welcome change from our normal fare of pasta or beans. Did we always have pasta or beans you ask? Almost always, as they are inexpensive, and with very slight meat additions contain all the necessary food groups for sustained cycling. Stir-frys were big, too. The cooks did a marvellous job of creating variety—imagination and inventiveness won kudos of appreciation.

The weather was close to 30º Celsius today and Marny in particular got really sunburned. We all did to varying degrees, but not to complain—it wasn't raining. Just one day of light rain so far, and a few scattered showers.

Occasionally throughout the day James hopped on his bike, riding it in great circles around the parking lot, his legs spinning rapidly as he developed the feel of pedalling faster in a lower gear. He did, indeed, work diligently at it. By mid-trip his cadence was noticeably faster and smoother.

Taking stock of the adventure to this point I realized that Bud's words of Everyone is a free spirit during the orientation-day briefing were very true. Seldom were we all together, and one or two were very individualistic, preferring to remain alone and do their own thing. But we all got along well. We worked together to complete group tasks quickly, and requests for individual favours seldom went long ungranted. A party crowd this was not, but Jeff and I did get Albert to join us for a drink at Brother's tonight before turning in.

Annette's concern was about the climb to Albert Canyon tomorrow, and already she was fretting about going over Roger's Pass two days hence.