Cycling America Adventure of Yvonne

Page 6: July 16 - July 19

Saturday July 15 Port Hardy - Prince Rupert
Waking up wasn't too difficult, especially not without earplugs in. And I even heard the alarmclock on the watch, as it rang simultaneously before an engine started roaring nearby. So much for peace on a Saturday morning! There were many people boarding the ferry without a car, because of the prohibitive costs of bringing a vehicle. Most were in a touring group, who would be travelling by train from Prince Rupert to Jasper. One such group was German, the other was Dutch. The trip itself wasn't as good as I had hoped for. Because of the short night, I spent more time being a couch potato than I had foreseen. I wasn't the only one. This trip was special as it had an extra unscheduled stop in Bella Bella, as native elders had come back from an elder meeting on Vancouver Island. One of them was unable to travel with the ferry, so we had a delay of over an hour before the ferry finally left. The Canadian natives seems to be a very happy kind of people, very different from what you hear about natives in the USA. Because of the delay, we arrived at 1.30 am and then still had to find a place to stay. I'd met a guy on the ferry who was really roughing it as he only took 2 rear panniers, including a stove! He slept in a bivvy bag and carried very few other things. Well, talking about roughing it, who would have been more comfortable. Me, not paying and sleeping underneath an awning of a school building, or him, paying for a campsite and waking up in the morning with a light drizzle?

Sunday July 16 Prince Rupert - Skidegate - Port Clements
This ferry ride was much more pleasant, as I was wide awake now. We left the ship at 1830h and I made it to Port Clements, after an extremely pleasant bike ride along the coast. The Q.C. islands are terrific cycling terrain, not too hilly, but just one road, so no getting lost here Because someone had informed me that Queen Charlotte hosts the biggest black bears in Canada, I asked permission to camp on someone's backyard at 2230h. Instead I was offered the campervan by the lady to whom I asked this, as she said that the soil was too bumpy to be sleeping in comfort.
Monday July 17 Port Clements - Massett - Tow Hill - Old Masset - Skidegate
This was one of those days when you realize that having a guide book is convenient. I lost my LP guide in the US or Canada Mail, and haven't been able (or inclined) to replace it. Instead I bought a local guide in Massett where I was transported to, after I discovered that the pleasant trip to Masset would be boring because of the trees blocking the viww on the bay. I also discovered that 'finding culture' is not an easy task. The northern island is very much a loggers' island, with many logging roads. The southern island has more culture, but no roads. You'll need to 'experience the culture' by taking a boat or a plane. A costly and/or time-consuming business. Instead I consoled myself by taking a trip to Tow Hill and admiring the non-blowing blow hole, and hiking up and down Tow Hill. Saw 1 totem pole in Old Masset (and missed a number of others) on my way back to Skidegate. I didn't cycle all the way back, as it was getting late, and got a ride from a local who was half-Italian, half-native, and who had quite typically switched from being a logger (or fisherman) to a jewelry-carver. He was doing quite well, and was very proud of his native background. Had a long talk with a rootless English woman, who had just transplanted herself to the Q.C. islands. She was taking care of the museum, and informed me it wouldn't be possible to camp here, because it was a native preserve. Instead, I took a left turn on the first hill, and illegally camped in somebody's backyeard, figuring that they wouldn't mind as the house seemed to be in disrepair.

Tuesday July 18 Skidegate - Prince Rupert - Terrace
Went back to the museum area, where a lot of people were active around and on the five totempoles they were carving up. There are going to be a lot more signs indicating the presence of the First Nation People on the Haida Gwaii islands as they call it. When I repeated the name Haida Gwaii on the ferry, an elderly man became livid. He'd been coming there for 60 years and nobody except a drunken guy had called it like that. And now all of a sudden, people are talking this nonsense about Haida Gwaii. Apparently, some people can't accept that things are changing. It's not likely though that the name will change officially, as it would mean that the Canadian government would acknowledge the wrong-doings that had been done in the past. My h-hiking act didn't pull off well today. I was so stupid not to think about where I had parked the bike: in the back of the ferry. When I realized it, there wasn't enough time to get up front , as it meant that I would need to unload the bicycle, carry the bags over to the front and then squeeze myself and the bike to the front. Now I had to wait until all the bigger vehicles were going off the ferry, with just the smaller cars left behind. Stupid, stupid! I'd made a half-hearted arrangement with a gentleman going to Terrace, but wasn't able to communicate to him, so I missed a good opportunity here. It was pouring cats and dogs outside after a while, and I discovered that old h-hiking wisdom that h-hiking is poor in bad weather. People don't feel like stopping for soaked hitch-hikers! And I had competition too! I was leap-frogging with a local guy called John. He was going to a meeting for environmentalists. He proved to me that owning a LBS isn't a profitable business, as he had to h-hike for financial reasons. An alternative guy, as he was smoking pot, and eating seaweed and tofu, and growing yeast. We were finally rescued by a Samaritan trucker, called Paul, who drove our soaking wet bodies to his home-town and even offered us a place to stay in his camper van. This overwhelming hospitality was explained by him being an active traveller too. Paul had been a diving instructor in the Caribbean for a year. It was fun, but too much work for too little pay, so he became a trucker (again?) and now dives around the Q.C. islands ("much better because of the more diverse fauna"). After having refused an offer to rub my back the night together with John in the same campervan was quite peaceful. It had become late, because of the late arrival, and long chat, as Paul has trouble in falling asleep after an evening drive.

Wednesday July 19 Terrace - Prince George - Jasper
What was so special about this day? Oh yeah, I'm having my birthday! I'll probably be not the only one, who has thought many, many years ago, about his/her birthday in the year 2000 and thinking "wow, that's old!" Now, 37 years doesn't feel old anymore ;-). I was on the road without having had breakfast, figuring that I'd eat some of my trailmix while riding. Within 30 mins, I struck 'gold', probably also because the weather was very good once again. Steve was indeed going to Prince George, and only had to fetch one more car wreck along the road. Steve hauls car wrecks from all over northern BC and brings them to Prince George. He was very happy with the job because of the varied routes, not too strenuous schedule and good benefits, and hoped to keep doing it until he would retire. We also talked about diets, cycling and family matters. He was trying to lose weight by riding a mtb, and jogging plus staying away from beer. While I had planned to stay overnight in Prince George, where I was dropped off at 1800 hrs, I was anxious to leave within 2 hours. There was no restaurant that seemed worthwhile to frequent on a special day, no nice little hostel or pension to stay in, but just chain restaurants and big impersonal motels. Prince George is just a cross roads. I found it an omen, that the youth hostel to which I was directed, was a women's hostel, or rather a women's shelter. I laughed and said that I was only battered by the rain, not by a husband. The manager was a very friendly lady, who said I was welcome to come back if I couldn't find a place to stay.

When leaving town, I came across a group of tourists, waiting at the railway station to be carried away to a motel. The group was the Dutch group I'd met on the ferry! They had spent time around Smithers. Who knows whether I'll meet them again on the Icefields Parkway? Hitching out of Prince George was difficult. The first logical place had an explicit sign prohibiting hitch-hiking or taking h-hikers. Only 15 km further on, there was another acceptable spot. No luck! When it was getting dark, I asked a trucker on the opposite side of road to contact fellow truckers and ask if they were going to Jasper. Dunno if that worked, but when I was going to give up, and made one more thumbs up sign, a truck screeched to a halt. It was Butch, who was carrying lumber to Edmonton. Once again, Butch was a fine example of Canadian hospitality and friendliness. He took great efforts in accomodating the bike behind the cabin, just as Paul had done. Now Griffon was hanging vertically in a precarious position, with the back wheel squeezed into a kind of bar and held tight with a bungee cord. Since Butch had had a serious accident as a logger, he started trucking instead, and was a very careful driver. He stopped every 2 hours during the night to take a 'snooze' for over 30 mins. I was quite happy with that. It meant we would get to the nicest part of the ride just before and after dawn, and also that I could rest more. After all, a h-hiker's task is to entertain the driver and keep him awake with tall and short stories.

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Saturday July 15 Port Hardy - Prince Rupert Waking up wasn't too difficult, especially not without earplugs in. And I even heard the alarmclock on the watch, as it rang simultaneously before an engine started roaring nearby. So much for peace on a Saturday morning! There were many people boarding the ferry without a car, because of the prohibitive costs of bringing a vehicle. Most were in a touring group, who would be travelling by train from Prince Rupert to Jasper. One such group was German, the other was Dutch. The trip itself wasn't as good as I had hoped for. Because of the short night, I spent more time being a couch potato than I had foreseen. I wasn't the only one. This trip was special as it had an extra unscheduled stop in Bella Bella, as native elders had come back from an elder meeting on Vancouver Island. One of them was unable to travel with the ferry, so we had a delay of over an hour before the ferry finally left. The Canadian natives seems to be a very happy kind of people, very different from what you hear about natives in the USA. Because of the delay, we arrived at 1.30 am and then still had to find a place to stay. I'd met a guy on the ferry who was really roughing it as he only took 2 rear panniers, including a stove! He slept in a bivvy bag and carried very few other things. Well, talking about roughing it, who would have been more comfortable. Me, not paying and sleeping underneath an awning of a school building, or him, paying for a campsite and waking up in the morning with a light drizzle?

	Sunday July 16 Prince Rupert - Skidegate - Port Clements This ferry ride was much more pleasant, as I was wide awake now. We left the ship at 1830h and I made it to Port Clements, after an extremely pleasant bike ride along the coast. The Q.C. islands are terrific cycling terrain, not too hilly, but just one road, so no getting lost here Because someone had informed me that Queen Charlotte hosts the biggest black bears in Canada, I asked permission to camp on someone's backyard at 2230h. Instead I was offered the campervan by the lady to whom I asked this, as she said that the soil was too bumpy to be sleeping in comfort. Monday July 17 Port Clements - Massett - Tow Hill - Old Masset - Skidegate This was one of those days when you realize that having a guide book is convenient. I lost my LP guide in the US or Canada Mail, and haven't been able (or inclined) to replace it. Instead I bought a local guide in Massett where I was transported to, after I discovered that the pleasant trip to Masset would be boring because of the trees blocking the viww on the bay. I also discovered that 'finding culture' is not an easy task. The northern island is very much a loggers' island, with many logging roads. The southern island has more culture, but no roads. You'll need to 'experience the culture' by taking a boat or a plane. A costly and/or time-consuming business. Instead I consoled myself by taking a trip to Tow Hill and admiring the non-blowing blow hole, and hiking up and down Tow Hill. Saw 1 totem pole in Old Masset (and missed a number of others) on my way back to Skidegate. I didn't cycle all the way back, as it was getting late, and got a ride from a local who was half-Italian, half-native, and who had quite typically switched from being a logger (or fisherman) to a jewelry-carver. He was doing quite well, and was very proud of his native background. Had a long talk with a rootless English woman, who had just transplanted herself to the Q.C. islands. She was taking care of the museum, and informed me it wouldn't be possible to camp here, because it was a native preserve. Instead, I took a left turn on the first hill, and illegally camped in somebody's backyeard, figuring that they wouldn't mind as the house seemed to be in disrepair.

Tuesday July 18 Skidegate - Prince Rupert - Terrace Went back to the museum area, where a lot of people were active around and on the five totempoles they were carving up. There are going to be a lot more signs indicating the presence of the First Nation People on the Haida Gwaii islands as they call it. When I repeated the name Haida Gwaii on the ferry, an elderly man became livid. He'd been coming there for 60 years and nobody except a drunken guy had called it like that. And now all of a sudden, people are talking this nonsense about Haida Gwaii. Apparently, some people can't accept that things are changing. It's not likely though that the name will change officially, as it would mean that the Canadian government would acknowledge the wrong-doings that had been done in the past. My h-hiking act didn't pull off well today. I was so stupid not to think about where I had parked the bike: in the back of the ferry. When I realized it, there wasn't enough time to get up front , as it meant that I would need to unload the bicycle, carry the bags over to the front and then squeeze myself and the bike to the front. Now I had to wait until all the bigger vehicles were going off the ferry, with just the smaller cars left behind. Stupid, stupid! I'd made a half-hearted arrangement with a gentleman going to Terrace, but wasn't able to communicate to him, so I missed a good opportunity here. It was pouring cats and dogs outside after a while, and I discovered that old h-hiking wisdom that h-hiking is poor in bad weather. People don't feel like stopping for soaked hitch-hikers! And I had competition too! I was leap-frogging with a local guy called John. He was going to a meeting for environmentalists. He proved to me that owning a LBS isn't a profitable business, as he had to h-hike for financial reasons. An alternative guy, as he was smoking pot, and eating seaweed and tofu, and growing yeast. We were finally rescued by a Samaritan trucker, called Paul, who drove our soaking wet bodies to his home-town and even offered us a place to stay in his camper van. This overwhelming hospitality was explained by him being an active traveller too. Paul had been a diving instructor in the Caribbean for a year. It was fun, but too much work for too little pay, so he became a trucker (again?) and now dives around the Q.C. islands ("much better because of the more diverse fauna"). After having refused an offer to rub my back the night together with John in the same campervan was quite peaceful. It had become late, because of the late arrival, and long chat, as Paul has trouble in falling asleep after an evening drive.

	Wednesday July 19 Terrace - Prince George - Jasper What was so special about this day? Oh yeah, I'm having my birthday! I'll probably be not the only one, who has thought many, many years ago, about his/her birthday in the year 2000 and thinking "wow, that's old!" Now, 37 years doesn't feel old anymore ;-). I was on the road without having had breakfast, figuring that I'd eat some of my trailmix while riding. Within 30 mins, I struck 'gold', probably also because the weather was very good once again. Steve was indeed going to Prince George, and only had to fetch one more car wreck along the road. Steve hauls car wrecks from all over northern BC and brings them to Prince George. He was very happy with the job because of the varied routes, not too strenuous schedule and good benefits, and hoped to keep doing it until he would retire. We also talked about diets, cycling and family matters. He was trying to lose weight by riding a mtb, and jogging plus staying away from beer. While I had planned to stay overnight in Prince George, where I was dropped off at 1800 hrs, I was anxious to leave within 2 hours. There was no restaurant that seemed worthwhile to frequent on a special day, no nice little hostel or pension to stay in, but just chain restaurants and big impersonal motels. Prince George is just a cross roads. I found it an omen, that the youth hostel to which I was directed, was a women's hostel, or rather a women's shelter. I laughed and said that I was only battered by the rain, not by a husband. The manager was a very friendly lady, who said I was welcome to come back if I couldn't find a place to stay.

When leaving town, I came across a group of tourists, waiting at the railway station to be carried away to a motel. The group was the Dutch group I'd met on the ferry! They had spent time around Smithers. Who knows whether I'll meet them again on the Icefields Parkway? Hitching out of Prince George was difficult. The first logical place had an explicit sign prohibiting hitch-hiking or taking h-hikers. Only 15 km further on, there was another acceptable spot. No luck! When it was getting dark, I asked a trucker on the opposite side of road to contact fellow truckers and ask if they were going to Jasper. Dunno if that worked, but when I was going to give up, and made one more thumbs up sign, a truck screeched to a halt. It was Butch, who was carrying lumber to Edmonton. Once again, Butch was a fine example of Canadian hospitality and friendliness. He took great efforts in accomodating the bike behind the cabin, just as Paul had done. Now Griffon was hanging vertically in a precarious position, with the back wheel squeezed into a kind of bar and held tight with a bungee cord. Since Butch had had a serious accident as a logger, he started trucking instead, and was a very careful driver. He stopped every 2 hours during the night to take a 'snooze' for over 30 mins. I was quite happy with that. It meant we would get to the nicest part of the ride just before and after dawn, and also that I could rest more. After all, a h-hiker's task is to entertain the driver and keep him awake with tall and short stories.