A Tough Initiation - The Cowboy Trail
Trip Start
Sep 13, 2006
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3
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Trip End
Mar 27, 2007
Fernie,
British Columbia,
Canada
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
It was early evening when I arrived at the small rural settlement of Black Diamond (pop. 1,900), having enjoyed a smooth sun-kissed progression across the prairie. In a wooded area by a river on the edge of town I found a campground. But when I came to pay the camping fee I realised that I'd left Calgary with the grand total of five dollars in my pocket. It wasn't a big deal - the lady who was warden promised to keep an eye on my bike while I walked to a cash-point. I headed back into town to discover that there was no cash to be had at either of the town's ATMs. Now I had a real problem!
A lady who I met by the bank offered me a ride to a neighbouring town - three kilometres away - which I accepted after a second's hesitation. A few minutes later I was in the lobby of a bank at Turner Valley (pop. 1,908) kissing portraits of the English Queen. Solvent once more, I walked briskly back along the road towards Black Diamond, accompanied by the playful sounds of a nascent river and the lukewarm heat of the setting sun on my back.
I arrived back at the campground after an absence of an hour or so. The warden came rushing over to enquire if everything was all right - she looked worried. I was embarrassed to learn that the local police had been alerted to my 'disappearance' and, even now, were out searching for me. So far there'd been one reported sighting, I was informed. I apologised immediately for the inconvenience I'd caused and produced a crisp Turner Valley twenty by way of explanation. To my surprise, the lady wouldn't accept my money - somebody had paid the camping fee for me in my absence. While the warden contacted the police about my reappearance I went off in search of my unknown benefactor. On finding a locked, empty trailer the mystery deepened.
As I erected my tent in the gathering twilight the tantalising scent of a barbeque drifted through the air. A campfire flickered under a nearby copse and a man came over to say hello. A conversation ensued and I found myself invited over for something to eat, an offer that I gladly accepted when it was put to me again. Soon I was sitting by the fire with a plate of delicious hot food and a can of beer.
Ray and Terri were itinerants who spent nine months of each year travelling across the mountains, prairie and tundra of northern and western Canada in pursuit of their trade - servicing fire trucks. They'd married recently - each for the second time - after meeting on-line. While on the road, they lived with their dog in a medium-sized trailer. Now they were looking forward to settling down for the winter in a small-town motel.
After a couple of hours of pleasant chatter I thanked the couple for their hospitality and retired to my tent, my head in a spin. Ray and Terry had turned out to be thoroughly decent people but that was hardly the point. Somewhere in the vast, dark continent that lay outside my tent, serial killers were at work, preying on innocents like myself. Greater caution was required if I was to stay out of their clutches. I scribbled a hurried note in my journal and turned over to wait for sleep.
The following morning I tracked down my benefactors. They turned out to be a couple of young country musicians in town to play a gig - the woman, still dressed in her cowgirl duds, looked especially glamorous. It transpired that they were keen cycle tourist too. On hearing of my disappearance, they'd assumed that I was at the end of a meagre budget and, moved to pity, had immediately paid my fee. I thanked them for their kindness and assured them that I was still very much solvent but my twenty dollars was again declined.
Kananaskis Rockies near Black Diamond AB
After dawdling awhile to enjoy the tranquillity of my surroundings, I pedalled south from Black Diamond on Alberta Provincial Highway 22 - a.k.a. the Cowboy Trail. It was midday on a glorious Sunday with not a cloud in the sky. An undulating route crossed green pastures at the limit of the prairie. To the west a high-ridge of jagged snow-capped peaks stretched along the horizon. Labouring breathlessly up the ascents, I envied those among the knots of motorcyclists that passed by intermittently, effortlessly leaving me in their wake. The descents, I enjoyed while they lasted - but they never seemed long enough.
On arrival at Longview (pop. 300) I came upon a large crowd of leather-clad bikers gathered in the forecourt of a gas station. I dismounted, wiped the sweat from my brow and wheeled my bicycle past the assembly with only a slight a degree of trepidation. One of the bikers stepped forward to ask, good-humouredly, if I was feeling outnumbered. We fell into conversation. It turned out that the bikers were on an end-of-season outing to the scenic Kananaskis Valley. The pass across the mountains would soon be closed, I learned. The dreaded word 'snow' was mentioned. I took my leave and went off to look for lunch.
On the road out of Longview I chanced upon the 'World Famous' Longview Beef Jerky Store, its wooden porch guarded by the black silhouette of a plywood cowboy. I stopped in to buy some jerky - dried morsels of chewy salted beef - before resuming my journey south. There would be no more stores for another one hundred and twenty kilometres.
Outbuildings On A Ranch, Longview AB
The highway climbed steeply away from the prairie, entering a cleft between twin ranges of low hills before dropping down into a broad empty valley ranged by shaggy black cattle. Signs of human habitation were few and far between - the occasional out-building and, every dozen kilometres, an archway - built from wooden poles - that led to a ranch. I sensed that I'd crossed some kind of frontier. Snowy peaks raised their heads above the wooded ridge to my west. As the sun sank towards them the prairie grass came alive with shades of red and orange. Traffic streamed past in the opposite direction - bound for Calgary and the office on Monday morning.
The valley narrowed and my progress slowed as I struggled up and over a succession of inclines. Then, around six, the tip of a tree-fringed reservoir came into view and I knew that I was almost home. Just then a puncture struck but I was tired and, rather than endure the hassle of applying a fix, I walked the bicycle along the road. I limped into camp, five kilometres further down the road, just as the sun was disappearing behind the hills.
The Cowboy Trail South of Longview AB
Under the watchful gaze of grazing deer I erected my tent, before going off to explore. I soon discovered that I had indeed crossed a frontier, for the campground at Chain Lakes was a primitive place, where if you wanted any comfort, you brought it yourself. There were no flush toilets, no showers and notices cautioning against drinking the water. What really concerned me, however, were the bear warning posters that were liberally plastered around the site. These featured an evil-looking grizzly with huge teeth and list of a dozen or steps one should follow to avoid being eaten. In the main these instructions related to the handling and storage of food and some appeared incredibly stringent. I learned that bears could smell food traces off items of clothing. I learned that bears love the smell of toothpaste. By the time I'd finished reading I was seriously alarmed.
I went to look for the warden. I found out that there was no warden. In fact the campground was largely deserted with just three trailers spread out over a couple of acres. I saw a light on in one of the trailers and knocked on the door. A young guy appeared - a gruff redneck type - and I asked if it really was likely that there were bears around (I still clung to the idea that bears were a part of some huge Canadian wind-up). 'Heck yeah' he replied emphatically 'I saw one just this morning'.
By now it was dark and I was seriously afraid. I contemplated going straight to bed without eating but I was ravenous with hunger. I took out my cheap stove and began heating some chilli con carne, a process that seemed to take an eternity. I remembered the advice I'd been given - to make a lot of noise - and as the food heated, I sang aloud a medley of football chants and other random gibberish. After bolting back my food, I engaged in a frantic clean up, trying, to the best of my ability, to remove all possible traces of food from the area around the tent. I placed all my remaining food together with the cooking equipment in a sack, which I hung from the branches of a tree some distance away. Only then did I retreat to my tent to await my fate.
I awoke the next morning, unscathed but not well rested. Grazing deer had seen to that. On a couple of terrifying occasions I'd convinced myself that The Grim Grizzly Reaper had arrived and readied my axe to do battle unto the death - but thankfully it hadn't come to that. It was another glorious day and I walked down to the lakeside to take the air. There, in the mud, I came across a set of large, freshly made paw-prints.
Looking West From the Porcupine Hills AB
A man wearing a cowboy hat arrived as I was setting up my stove. There was no need to boil the water, he told me - the water was fine and he drank it every day. The signs were there because a bunch of people got sick at a campground over east and sued the government. After relieving me of my lucky twenty-dollar bill he continued on his rounds. I decided to boil the water, just in case.
The highway climbed away from Chain Lakes until the floor of the valley levelled out. Thickly wooded ranges of hills enclosed the pastures on either side. Traffic was scarce and, for long luxurious stretches, grazing horses were my only source of company. They would stop munching to gawp at the brightly clothed alien whizzing by. Drunk on fresh air and the sense of adventure, I would shout 'Yee haw' and wave back.
Prairie Meets Mountains, The Cowboy Trail AB
Climbing to the southeast, I forsook the delights of the valley for the steep, wooded flanks of the Porcupine Hills. A series of sharp climbs - interwoven with a series of equally sharp descents - saw me reach for my lowest gears. With the sun high in the sky progress was increasingly hard-won. The hot and thirsty labour took its toll and, at the top of yet another ascent, I sprawled exhausted on a grassy verge. On reviewing my water supplies, I abandoned plans to cook up some noodles and forced down a sickly-sweet 'energy' bar instead.
Emerging from the forest at the head of a pass, a dry steppe-like landscape opened out before me, bounded at its distant southern extent, by a snow-sprinkled mountain barrier. I coasted downhill onto a fiery undulating sea of prairie-grass and the road levelled off. A hot dry wind - the Chinook - blew down off a high ridge to the west, its force buffeting me around and slowing my progress. The wind seared across my face stinging my parched lips. I paused every couple of kilometres for a mouthful of water and then my bottle was empty. I felt so terribly, terribly thirsty. Laying down my bicycle, I flagged down passing traffic, a bottle in my hand.
Mercifully, a pick-up truck pulled over and, as chance would have it, the driver turned out to be a hardcore cyclist with a ten-litre water bottle on the back of his pick-up. I quickly gulped down a couple of litres - then refilled my bottles. Meanwhile Bob told me about his recent solo-trip to the Canadian Arctic. He swore by 'dried hamburger' as expedition food and gave me a bag - which I tried later and found disgusting - before heading back towards Calgary to put in his daily twenty-five clicks.
On the Cowboy Trail near Lundbreck AB
A few kilometres further on I arrived on the banks of a river that emerged from the hills to the west. Water galore - at last it was time for lunch! I sat down on the riverbank to boil up the noodles I'd long been dreaming of. The first pot barely touched my hunger and I boiled up a second. After scoffing it down, I lay on the grass to consider my predicament. Travelling light was all very well but now I was perilously short of food. I earnestly hoped that those who believed in the store at Lundbreck - for I had met unbelievers too - were right. The noodles hit the spot - with renewed vigour I climbed back onto my bike, intent on seeing out the remainder of the Cowboy Trail before nightfall.
The road was flat and straight and the late afternoon heat abating - near-perfect cycling conditions. Staying in a high gear I pumped the pedals hard, striving to cover distance quickly. I focused hard, trying to stay in 'the zone', to keep the rhythm going. As the sun sank lower in the sky, the landscape was filled with soft, luxuriant light. Snowy peaks grew pinker by the minute and cattle at pasture lowed to their hearts' content. For an hour, maybe more, I remained absorbed in my task - then the sudden sharp pop of a stone and an uncomfortable rumble. I cursed and came to an abrupt halt on the shoulder.
I fixed the puncture quickly - maybe too quickly - but by the time I got back in the saddle the sun had disappeared beyond the ridge to my right. Ahead, the mountains were slowly turning a deeper shade of blue. I redoubled my efforts, hoovering up the road until - from the crest of a rise - the lights of long-anticipated Lundbreck (pop. 150) came into view, twinkling in the twilight a few kilometres off. But no sooner had my hopes been raised than they were dashed by a sharp impact on my rear tyre - another puncture. I felt like crying with frustration. But there was no time to lose so I quickly set about taking the panniers off the bicycle again. I'd applied the patch and was just about to replace the back wheel when a pick-up truck pulled up and a man's voice called out 'Need a ride?' I didn't need to be asked twice.
Puncture At Sundown, Lundbreck AB
I hastily threw my stuff onto the back of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat. My saviour introduced himself as Ted and directed me to a beer-filled cooler on the back seat. I'd barely cracked open a can when we arrived at the junction where Highway 22 meets Inter-Provincial 3 - the end of The Cowboy Trail. Ted outlined my choices: I could get out and pedal one kilometre east to tiny Lundbreck and another night in a dark bear-haunted campground; or I could stay with him in the pick-up and travel west across the Crownest Pass to the mountain resort town of Fernie and all its attendant attractions. The un-sipped beer in my hand made the choice for me - I was going to Fernie.
The silhouettes of jagged peaks towered above either side of our route through the pass. Ted pointed out to me the ghostly remains of Frank, an old mining town wiped from the map with great loss of life by a collapsing slagheap a century ago. As we progressed, one small community blended into another and brash neon signs offered liquor for sale at 'Alberta prices'. After crossing the provincial border into British Columbia we commenced a long winding descent through deep forest.
I'd felt slightly guilty about accepting a lift over the pass - as if I were somehow cheating - but I soon got over it. Ted, who was on his way to Idaho to collect a boat, was good company. He also knew what it felt like to be stranded on the side of a road. Get south and west before the weather turns bad, he told me - it was advice that I'd heard before.
After the best part of an hour's drive we arrived amid the bright lights of Fernie. Hotels, motels, fast-food joints and gas stations lined the highway. After a couple of days on the Cowboy Trail it was like arriving in Vegas. Ted found me a hotel to suit my budget and waited while I checked in. I thanked him for rescuing me and went off to take a hot bath. Later, after a huge plate of pasta and a pint of Rickert's Red, I lay down on an exceptionally comfortable bed and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
ENDS
