I wander around for a little, take a couple of pics of the van and trailer, and wait for the final pack (thankfully for the guides, there's not much to put in the trailer today). Here's a pic:
I wander over to the airport for a quick look - typical airport really. Seeing a teller machine (even tho' I got money out yesterday) I give it a whirl: again I am successful. I remember to make a note to myself next time I'm up here in Canada - it's better to rely on a money supply in your wallet than in your account!
Alisa, Doug and Brandon are tooling around the vans, and Danette and James have also appeared: this is what remains of the group. Brandon ducks over to the airport to pick up some coffees - he nicely asks me if I want something, and I go a cappuccino (the only coffee I drink). He arrives back in a couple of minutes and I try to give him some money, but he refuses: the typical gesture of all the guides on both my tours who have done a power of work throughout the tours in the most cheerful and professional fashion.
Piling into the vans, I hop into one with Alisa (I'd promised her the charm of my company the previous day) whilst Brandon, Doug, Danette and James pile into the other. 'Excellent' I think to myself - I can drive Alisa mad without creating further enemies. Revenge is on my mind - her treacherous gesture of sending me up to the 'bastard hill and lake-to-nowhere' on Day 3 still burns! (I am the grudge-meister!)
But of course, no such thing occurs, as Alisa is a charming, funny, down-to-earth and intelligent companion, and my faux-obsession with this episode merely a device to add a bit of poor humour to an otherwise dull story! (I told you earlier readers that she was a real sweety!)
Thankfully for me, Alisa is also seemingly oblivious to my rather stilted social manner, or is gracious enough not to announce it!. I've been acutely conscious on these tours that conversing with others for me is a bit like reading from a script - it's in my nature to plan everything before I say it as I don't appear to be attuned to what constitutes a 'normal' conversation and must internally censor most things I say before I let them out. We chat amiably on and off as the day progresses.
There's not much to relate about a long van journey - although we travel a different route from our cycle up, it is a vastly different view anyway. Time floats by as does scenery. I recall little scraps: a small town, along side an open-cut coal mine atop a hill, bordered up and slowly rotting, mining technique 'progress' having rendered it obsolete; rolling country and far off peaks; wide rivers and 'moose' ponds; the gradual passage of time.
One thing uniquely memorable: in the afternoon we traverse a section of road which is piled either side with huge boulders, which tower over the road itself. This is the site of the 'Frank Slide' in Crowsnest Pass, Montana. The Wikipedia entry below relates full details. Suffice to say that in the early hours of April 23rd, 1903, a massive portion of Turtle Mountain collapsed due to coal mining operations weakening the site. 74 million tons of rock descended upon the town of Frank: in just over 40 seconds 70 of the 600 inhabitants were dead.
Wikipedia entry for Frank Slide
The 104 year old boulder slide looks pristine, with the larger rocks seeming as if they were exposed yesterday - when I find out the slide is so long past I'm amazed.
Here's a pic of what remains of Turtle Mountain - it's clear the volume of material displaced from the mountain was massive and the kinetic energy contained within that suspended rock almost unfathomably enormous: much of the falling rock was rendered into dust and pebbles.
We stop at a petrol station just past the site: Turtle Mountain lurks in the background. Emerged from the shop, purchased gum being chewed, I stand by the van and watch a man exit the same shop and climb into his pickup. Continuing to watch, I raise my hand in reaction: he is reversing straight into a car which has pulled up transversely a short distance behind him. Surely he's seen it? Crunch - hmmm, guess not! I'm guessing from the goings on the hit car is a rental - bummer for the trip. I don't go over as they seem to be working it out and I'm not sure what help I'd be given I'm going to be traveling half way around the world tomorrow!
Later in the afternoon, we cross the border back into the US, and once again the stark contrast between the two processes is apparent. The Canadian side is polite AND efficient; the US side is a study in militarism, attitude and officiousness. The process is symptomatic of all my experiences with US border controls: militaristic, ritualised, and absolutely intimidatory. This must be a policy determined from on-high: an entire organisation of people cannot be so purposefully negative in their dealings with visitors to their shores?
Sure, I can see the point of security. Fine, I can deal with the ritualised processes in the name of efficiency. That is all understandable and perfectly acceptable. But is it absolutely necessary to subject an entire array of world visitors to your shores to an atmosphere of intimidation and tension? The prevailing attitude from the 'mechanism' is mind-numbingly counter-productive: it creates tension, a tension in which people naturally sometimes display less-than-clear thinking, and it creates negativity. Is it going to deter anyone who genuinely means you harm?
The whole experience is a 180 degree turn around to the one I had with every American I had significant interactions with on tour; guides, tour members and citizens alike: to a person, they were all friendly, courteous, welcoming and interesting. The stark contrast is so ironic.
Ok - enough ranting!
Arriving at Grouse Mt Lodge, Whitefish, my elegant overnight stay, I say my goodbyes to the guides - they are off elsewhere in the vans. It's a bit sad, but I'm so glad to have met them and shared the trip with them - wonderful people and the best guides. I also say goodbye to the great couple of Danette and James - whilst they are staying at the Lodge as well, we go different ways early next day (I'm off to the airport at 4:00am!).
Belongings up in my room and bike packed away, I go for a wander around the place: it is lovely, and complete with golf course on its back doorstep. Pic of the front and sign below:
I chill out watching golfers smack their way along the nearest fairway before heading to the bar/restaurant. It's a large, high ceiling room with a nice open gas-log fire: excellent food and beer!
And then one of those little moments happens that confirms all the superbly positive opinions I carry about this tour, the Bicycle Adventures organisation, and the wonderful guides.
I'd noticed whilst packing my bike into its travel case that I'd left one of my wheel bags in the van's trailer. Bugga! Oh well, I figured it had done most of its job, and I wasn't going to worry about getting it back.
Partway through my meal (it is many hours after I am dropped at the place), I look up: there is Doug, standing at the entrance to the restaurant looking around, my wheel bag in his hand. He's taken the time to, 1. Bring the bag back to me, and 2. find out where I am and deliver it in person. I call him over, thank him gratefully and give him one last hug. I'm truly amazed! And yet, in reality there's no reason to be - that's been the way it was the whole way throughout my two tours: guides ready to do everything in order to make the trip a success for those under their care. That one act symbolises it all.
Thank you Bicycle Adventures.
Thank you guides Marty and Ric (Tour 1), and Alisa, Brandon and Doug (Tour 2).
Thank you every one of my fellow tour members, lovely people one and all.
Thank you the Canadian Gulf Islands, Alberta and Montana!
It's been one hell of a ride!
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