Part 2: Cycling Glacier, Banff, Jasper - Day 9.

Outside the Delta Calgary it is quiet and early morning. It's back-to-base day.

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!

Part 2: Cycling Glacier, Banff, Jasper - Day 3.

Woke bright and early and feeling none the worse for wear after the ascent and later struggle-against-headwinds of yesterday. It was surprisingly warm during the night (maybe the hotel brochure boasts about no insulation and no double glazed windows actually had something to them?) and sticking my head outside the door revealed a mild and still mostly blue-skied day - looking good!

7:00am breakfast followed by a quick portage of the bags down to the loading zone for the guides to load into the van. I'm not sure how they did this everyday whilst not completely losing their sanity? Mind you, some may argue that they were completely insane to do it in the first place, but as usual they were there, prepared and cheerful.

Today we were to head towards Waterton Lakes and the Prince of Wales Hotel via the Chief Mountain International Highway. Hmmm - 'Mountain International'? Yes - we climb more mountains and we cross the border into Canada. Passport at the ready, and having memorised the simple route guide for the day, I proceeded to set forth - getting as far as my bike propped up against a wall of the hotel and being blocked in by a gazillion others! 5 years later, I finally manage to liberate the beast, check tyre pressure (no more tyre issues since the multiple blow out day in Tour 1), fill my bidons and hit the road just when everyone else was getting into the Prince of Wales 82km away!

Not that dramatic really, but it was the reason I missed the excitement on the road just out from the hotel - Bears!

Apparently a few of the riders had seen both a brown bear and a black bear on the side of a peak quite close to the road - wow! Upon arriving on the scene, a few tour members were still checking out the creatures. Not sure why - by this time the beasts had shuffled up the mountain: I couldn't see the brown bear at all (although ppl kept pointing at it and saying "there it is!"), and the black bear was a mere fly-speck on the distant horizon as he crossed the Rockies whilst giving us the finger. Pfftttt - big deal!

Jabe was one of these members, so after he finished pretending to see the things, he and I pedalled off for a nice two man paceline toward the Canadian border. The roads of yesterday (the first part of the journey was retraced) were far nicer than before: a slight tailwind and downhill meant we were humming along. To our own close bear encounter!

It was over in seconds but I still carry the mental impression to this day: Jabe in front, me close behind, both of us going fast on a slightly curving slightly downhill section of road. From left to right straight across the road runs a black bear, body pointed toward the bushes he's heading to but head oriented 90 degrees straight toward us. He looks panicked - I think my eyeballs popped out. Not really sure how close he was, but I can distinctly recall his two ears, like some teddy bears, popped up off his head, a short stubby tail, and the body of a teenage sized bear. I'm pretty sure if we had arrived 10 seconds earlier at that piece of road we might have had a VERY close encounter of the collision kind!

I kept pedalling sort of, but I was a bit stunned and drifted off Jabe's tail into the center of the road before coming to, riding back up to him and offered up a poetic insight into my amazement - I think I said "Wow"! Lame, but "wow" said it all.

Moving on, Jabe and I ate up the miles to the base of a steepish but short hill on Chief Mountain International Highway. Well, it looked short - doesn't it end just round that bend? I took off like a scalded cat, determined to beat Jabe up one stinking hill! I did beat him up that one - unfortunately the same one continued at the top of the bend and as per usual, Jabe floated past me whilst I ground up at my glacial rate (it appears to indicate on the guide notes that the hill is 8km on the map but it wasn't that anything like that as I recall - 4km maybe?). At the top, the van had stopped - this was a collection point for some refreshments before a downhill and the run into the US/Canada border. I decided to go down the hill partway again - about half, and then edged up it once more. It's funny - climbing the hills wasn't a high, but finishing them was, and as I got acclimated I looked forward to them more: well maybe not so much them, but their completion and the satisfaction thereof.

Setting off from the stop point, we rode on towards our destiny. As we were approaching the US/Canada border, myself and other riders arrived and collected at a spot just shy of the border itself so we could all get our stories straight about why we were hauling huge quantities of dr... eerrmm, A. why we wanted to leave such a wonderful place like the US to go to such a forsaken hell-hole like Canada (this is the story for the US side) and B. Why the hell Canadian officials should let a bunch of smelly cyclists, possibly carting vast quantities of dr... from the Wild West which is Montana into their lovely country (the Canadian side cover).

Amassing behind the two vans, we approached the US border with trepidation: what horrors awaited us inside that anonymous building with the huge empty cardboard cartons, formerly containing latex gloves, stacked outside? (Pics of building-of-horrors and the US side of the border below. I'm not sure if it's even legal to show the pic of the building but what can they do now - oh, hang on there's the doorbell...):




Well, no horrors: a guy walked out of the place, had a brief chat with guide Brandon of which I only managed to catch the last words (something about "good riddance...") and then we tottered along behind the vans as we entered the no man's land between the two countries.

As we slowly cycled the 200 odd meters to the Canadian side, someone remarked that they'd heard that technically because this was no man's land there were no laws, and suggested we could do pretty much anything we liked - very quickly their suggestion was NOT taken up. I've been on the former East/West German border at a forest setting similar to this - it felt the same here: eerily menacing!

Lining up to go thru' in threes (don't ask me?), a funny thing happened. After the accidents of days 1 and 2, most of us had been hinting at the meme about such things happening in threes, and hoping that the third one was a real non-event. And so it was...one of the sons of Ken (sorry I can't recall whether it was Kevin or Scott), the chap who'd had the unfortunate faceplant, trundled up to the back of the line, forgot to unclip his pedals and gracefully executed the slow-motion sideways plummet-to-earth that all of us who ride clipless have experienced at least once. My admiration was great - talk about 'taking one' for the team! Turns out that was the last incident of the tour!

By now, my confidence was sky-high: surely, being the only member of the great Commonwealth of which Australia and Canada were the two powerhouses (the UK doesn't qualify as a powerhouse, well not athletically speaking which is what counts!), I'd get to ride thru' here unquestioned and welcomed, whilst my fellow tour members (all citizens of the large land mass below Canada) would be ruthlessly interrogated about their nefarious intentions in this great and sweeping land?

Not so - whilst I got a free pass, so did everyone: in threes we scooted up to the border window where a gorgeous young lady asked us for passports, shot a few questions about trip purpose, drugs carriage, etc of us and then waved us on our way with a beaming, beauty-contest-winning smile. Man, I was sort of wishing I'd get frisked! The process was so innocuous that Stuart rode thru', after presenting and receiving his passport, without answering the questions and we had to call him back!

Now that I was in the place, I was happy to stay, and after cheerfully getting my pic taken at the much nicer Canadian Border sign (see below - my bike is holding me up), we headed off for the short jaunt to our lunch spot at Belly River.



After lunch (I took some of THE most uninspired pics ever here, and in fact didn't even get a pic of the river! - it's one of those lovely, many streams, trout-fishing style ones), we again set off for the 27km ride to the Prince of Wales Hotel overlooking Waterton Lakes. More undulating roads, but not too serious and I was tootling along by myself. Having taken off early after lunch, I was trailblazing, and soon arrived at the entrance to Waterton Lakes National Park. The ranger, another lovely lady (good strategy Canada!) let me straight thru' after she heard my charming Australian accent, and I scooted into the hotel soon after, having seen its dominating presence on the rise for some distance before.

Here I met the van, Alisa and Jacob (not riding again - you shall suffer for this son!) - from my sly "Hello" to Alisa and her surprised "Oh hello" back, I could tell I had impressed her with my light-speed and grand arrival. Smiling (like an assassin) she suggested that as I was early I should take the optional ride out to Lake Cameron and back, a mere 32km. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I later learned that the optional ride is an 'Expert' optional ride, mainly because it was pretty much uphill all the way out, and started with a hill of 3.2km which most vehicles got towed up! My callous acts of the first day, where I taunted her by asking an oft-repeated question once more in order to assess her mental strength, had come back to haunt me.

I recall a bit about the ride: the first 3.2km of it standing out of the saddle, mashing the pedals at some ridiculously slow rate just to haul myself over it, the never ending rolling hills to the lake, Jabe (bloody Jabe - the guy is a mountain goat) rolling up behind me with a short while to go, breezily saying "Hi", and then (nicely) encouraging me to slog on with him, which I mostly managed to do. Of the lake I know nothing - it was a freakin' lake! I do recall the ride back - generally downhill, much easier, faster, and fanging down that bugger of a short hill I'd earlier climbed passing a truck around some switchbacks: kick arse! If it hadn't been for this last bit of joy, the terrible revenge I had been brewing in my mind for Alisa would have come to fruition.

Back at the hotel, I grabbed a beer from Alisa (she coyly acted as if no terrible event had even taken place!) and wandered over to where Steve had his tandem up on the front carry bar of the van, torturing it in the name of repairing something or other. Figuring I knew as little as he, we both started reeking havoc on the poor beast - son Jacob got bored of critiquing us and wandered off after a while. Several hours later we proclaimed ourselves to be of the genius category having fixed something (the bike shop next day charged with re-fixing it were grateful I'm sure).

Here's some pics of the Prince of Wales Hotel to break the boredom of my ranting:




A nice shower later, a quick cruise around the interior and exterior of the hotel (when I took pics including those above), and some browsing of employees and various things stuck on walls led me to the opinion that the Prince of Wales was a magnificently situated, sturdily constructed, typically styled Lodge type accommodation with nice rooms, huge foyer, big dining areas, and lots of stuff relating to a Prince of Wales (pics, busts, staff wearing kilts etc etc). I never did quite understand whether or not any of the royal buggers had actually been, stayed or even had a remote flicker of a thought about the place. Meh - an historian I'm not!

The evening meal was had at a nice place called (errmm - I don't remember: great travel write-up hey!) in Waterton itself, on the edge of Waterton Lakes. Food was very nice and company was again excellent. Danette, a lovely bubbly lady on tour with her partner James, was keeping a whole table at attention with her conversation. James, a quieter, strong chap and another of the power riders on tour seemed her perfect foil, and to me looked like a young Christopher Walken: I mentioned this later and he didn't seem overly impressed? Hmmm, James clearly is happy with himself - I'd kill to resemble Walken!

Back at the hotel, I again razzed my room mate Jacob about his non-riding slackness - maybe he was the smart one, as I was the one rubbing the gel bought in Tour 1 on my muscles and sitting slightly gingerly on my sore arse! He is actually very smart - he was having issues about which college to attend the next year and I'm thinking, wow, he gets to choose? A great kid, and excellent company as long as you can bear up under the strain of him frequently pointing out how wrong you are (and being correct!). I didn't have this issue - I simply did the expedient thing and threatened to beat him up if he pointed out my faults, which worked well! (To his mum Amy, this is simply an invention for dramatic sake and in no way a reflection of how I deal with teenagers - I normally drown them in the bath!)

So, off to sleep with the prospect of an upcoming morning van ride (to skip a bunch of glorious road), an afternoon ride in company with the charming Julie, a short little kicker hill to Deer Lodge, and a post-evening Polar Bear Club plunge into icy Lake Louise with the (yes Doug it must be said) less-than-enthusiastic so called champion of the frigid dip! Day 4 next.

Part 2: Cycling Glacier, Banff, Jasper - Day 2.

This was it - Day 2, and the journey along the mythical Going-to-the-Sun Rd, carved out of the very rock by the most manual of techniques over a 12 year period finishing in 1932, and climbing it's way 3840ft to cross the Continental Divide at Logan's Pass. Check out the Wikipedia for more info and links:

Wikipedia Going-to-the-Sun Road Entry

A great factoid is that it is the very road that is featured at the start of the movie 'The Shining'.

Well, climbing it was going to be like a visit to that hell-hotel of the movie! I'd decided prior to the trips not to re-jig the gears on my bike so my lowest set was 39 front and 23 rear. Now I had started to regret it.

Below is a pic of the valley which the rd goes thru before scaling the face of the second mountain in the pic to Logan's Pass (between the two peaks):



We arose early for breakfast at 7:00am - an early rise was necessary as it's a rule that all bicycle traffic be off the road between 11:00am-4:00pm. The early morning briefing emphasised the fact that the road (whilst narrow and having no shoulder, and featuring metal drainage gratings and possible rocks, wet surfaces, debris, massive gaping crevasses and hordes of voracious brown bears) was tough but possible to climb with a huge dose of luck! Actually, the guides were very positive and encouraging, and soon we left Lake McDonald Lodge and started the ride up the gentle slopes toward "The Loop", the switchback where the road ascends back on itself, and the start of the 19.5km 6% gradient final climb in earnest.

The ride up the the initial incline was cold, and with my no-finger gloves my hands soon became frosty. Ditto my toes. Still, with the promise of sunlight ready to appear round the next bend I swept on, altho' never quite catching those elusive rays.

I stopped at the designated point just prior to "The Loop" to a quick cheer from guides at the waiting van (not sure what the hell they were cheering at - that was the easy bit!) At this point is a sign pointing out 'Heaven's Peak', an 8987 ft peak across the valley. Below is a pic of me and the sign (thanks to Amy for snapping it for me), and the peak itself:




Gathering my thoughts, I reflected on the fact that the longest hill I'd ever climbed back home in Perth was probably 1km at 5-6% gradient: not a comforting thought given 19.5km at 6% was coming up. Divesting myself of my backpack (all I was keeping was my camera - I figured if I flatted, then the van would come by eventually) I re-mounted, took a last breath, changed up to my 23 gear at the rear, and was away.

To cut the drama short, the climb was great, fantastic, a true experience. Sure, with the gearing I had, it was a little bit of a grind at a cadence of around 60-65, but the incline was consistent, the road was great, the views were spectacular, and the sense of accomplishment was gratifying. Best of all, I kept going forward! In short, I'd do it over in a flash - no question at all. No one particular thing sold me - it was just the combination of everything that now makes me want to grind it out again.

I recall one incident at about three quarters up - a missile (could it be a bike?) was spearing downhill toward me shouting something unintelligible: as the object passed me it turned out to be Doug at terminal velocity saying something which I interpreted as "yeeee-haaaaawwww". The Doppler Effect generated by his approach and passing turned the oncoming sound into a high-pitched siren which slowly faded to a low-pitched growl as he passed down the hill, flaming scorch marks from his tyres snaking their way down the decline after him. I was reminded of Wile E. Coyote from the roadrunner cartoons, strapped to an oversized 'Acme' brand rocket and sizzling towards his target off screen. Doug had driven the van and trailer around to Logan's Pass from the other side the previous day - oversized vehicles were not allowed on the climb. I wondered out loud to myself what the policy on low-flying missiles was before plodding on.

Arrived at the top at Logan's Pass 19.5km later feeling liberated. In all honesty, I had never felt better mentally, and physically I was great - I really should have gone down for a way and re-done part as some of the group did. If any readers are interested in doing this climb then I urge you to DO IT - it's an experience of a lifetime!

At the peak of the climb, David (a young guy on Tour with his family, a friendly, rock-solid person and great rider who shared with me some wonderful pace-lines around Alberta) took my pic - I hope to get that one off him one day. I hope I look like I felt - exhilarated.

I did end up going down about 800m - on the way up there is an observation area about that distance from the top but I figured I'd get all the pics I wanted from the top at Logan's Pass. Except of course, the Pass is over the crest. So back down it was to take pics - none of which can really do the magnificence justice. Flitting beneath the suspended metal walkway at the ob area was a mountain goat and her kid - couldn't get any pics coz they wouldn't come out! Here's a pic of the view down from where we had come - you can see the Rd carving up the mountain on the right:



Also, the obligatory 'me and sign' pic:



Climbed back up to the van waiting at Logan's Pass and got refreshments with those who had already made it, and talked about the climb, scenery etc with them and those who continued to arrive. Basking in the atmosphere, I then thought about the fun that awaited - a 13.5km downhill to our lunch stop at Sun Point!

Time to blast, and with a little caution initially, I started out on the descent. Finding the roads generally good, and dodgy spots easy to see and avoid, I let the bike and gravity do their thing. Soon it felt like I was flying - passing the tour buses, swooping around bends, hitting mid 70s km/h on the steepest decline: awesome. Going up mountains has its bonuses!

All too soon, the lunchspot turnoff loomed, and it was time to reign it in. Glided into Sun Point up to the waiting van and hung around chatting to Brandon as others arrived. In retrospect, I should've gone back down the Going-to-the-Sun Rd as a few others did - I had the time. But still...

After lunch, it was a 50km jaunt to the night's lodgings, Many Glacier Hotel. Starting off, the road trailed down foothills and onto relatively flat, open, less vegetated terrain. A nice tailwind helped things zip along - rode with Jabe for a nice while (mostly getting towed!) before he turned back to find Julie.

Somewhere on a long stretch of road, an emergency vehicle passed by going back towards Sun Point: I later found out it was an ambulance. Then, at about 1 minute intervals, 4 other vehicles, all ranger cars, went past lights ablaze in the same direction. Must be a fire I thought.

A short while later I came up on Mark and Stuart, two friends doing the trip. Both great value - Stuart a real 'energiser bunny' on the bike, a colourful personality, and with a real joy for the bike and life, and Mark a big, athletic guy with a straightforward and easy-going personality, equally loving his riding, and just the strongest rider I've seen. Tagged along with them with Mark doing the vast majority of the work (he was hard to keep up with even when he was doing the pacing!).

Mark asked me at one stage if I'd seen all the emergency vehicles: I replied yes to which he wondered if it was anything to do with our tour. It never occurred to me and I said I doubted it. Later we found out at the Lodge that another of the group, Jeffrey, David's brother and son of Bill and Bonnie, had had a spill on the downhill section after Logan's Pass, had been knocked out and had been airlifted to hospital as a precautionary measure. All was well - great news - and he re-joined the tour after a few days although his cycling days for this tour were over due to medical orders. I later had a few short chats with Jeffrey and found him to be a really enigmatic and charismatic person: he has that something about him which makes me think he'll do something of importance in his life.

Our little group kept on going and the conditions got a little tougher: more undulations, and a headwind as we slowly turned back towards some foothills and Many Glacier Hotel. Stuart was dropping back a bit, being a slighter guy into a headwind is tough. Also, for the first part of the tour, he persisted in carrying this enormous seatpack which looked like it weighed two tonne! Most likely it had a spare bike in it in case his classic Colnago died! It was big enough. Later on in the tour he ditched the spare bike and just carried a normal load, after which he just steamed.

After a while, Mark started getting away from me - man, he went up hills like they were pimples! He and Jabe were both great climbers on the opposite ends of the scale: Jabe light and lean and soft on the pedals, Mark big and athletic and he just drove over inclines with pure force. After a while, Mark turned around, passed me and went back for Stuart: just an excuse for more miles I think! Those two were great mates. I had a massive case of envy over Mark's bike - it was a beautiful Litespeed (like his riding!).

Continued the into-the-wind grind through the Many Glacier Park entrance and finally arrived at the Hotel after a tough but still fun ride. Checked into the hotel with the promise of a hot shower followed by later drinks and nibbles as a group. Hotel pic here:



The Many Glaciers Hotel is classic lodge-style accommodation, all wood, with rooms in wings constructed around a central building housing the foyer, dining etc. It has a Swiss theme about it - including Swiss flags everywhere, some reference to it in the eateries etc. I believe the Swiss did something to develop the area? Either that or they just liked the flag. Either way, a great place with huge views. Unfortunately, the Many Glaciers Hotel doesn't look over many glaciers - these have shrunk to almost nothing.

After a shower, we all gathered inside a small wing of the hotel and promptly commandeered it for drinks and nibbles. This gathering was meant to be outside in a 'breezeway' but that had inconveniently turned into a 'galeway'. Hint to self - eat first, as one beer latter I was feeling dangerous!

It was then off to the (Swissish?) restaurant, where I was on a table with Stephen, he like me doing the tour by himself. His job involved directing all the TV proceedings in one of the houses of US parliament. After being fascinated by his stories of the workings of the place, all I can say is I admire his staying power: I remember once attending a sitting of the Western Australian State Parliament in the galleries, sitting down and very soon after being told to wake up by a rather peeved parliamentary officer!

So, one nice meal, conversations and goodnights later, it was time for bed. After good-naturedly hassling Jacob about the fact he didn't ride today, and discussing the interesting selling points of the hotel's brochure (it proclaims the rooms don't have insulation or double-glazed windows? - I presume freezing in winter is a bonus for that season's occupants?) I drifted off to sleep after the best and most challenging day of riding in my life. And this only Day 2!

Coming up - Day 3: wherein we see bears in them thar hills, the Canadians recklessly let me into their country, a hill pops up out of nowhere and pops some eyes, a revenge-minded Alisa sends me up a vicious climb to a lake I can't remember, and we stay in a Lodge named after the Prince of Wales (one of the dead ones, not the living one whose mum won't let him be King).

Part 2: Cycling Glacier, Banff, Jasper - Day 1.

Day 1 of the tour started bright and early - VERY bright and early. I'd set my room alarm for 7:00am, time enough for a quick breakfast, final pack and to get the stuff down to the entry for pickup by the tour van at 8:30. Waking to it's buzz, I slid out of bed, dressed ready for cycling, did the pack etc and went down to breakfast. Hmmm - breakfast not open yet: ok, wander out for a walk. The sky was blue but the air was very chilly and it didn't seem to be all that bright. And no people around? Back inside the lodge I plonked down in a lounge in the foyer and took stock. My eyes turned to the clock on the wall - 6:30am? Huh? Turns out my clock in my room was set one hour ahead!

Bleh! - still, breakfast was soon on and dispatched, I'd retrieved my stuff from the room and placed it ready for pickup, and browsing through the multitude of dog-showing books (hmmm, I thought this was a ski lodge?) passed the time.

Hanging around outside, a familiar silver van piled with bikes made its way around the curve of the mountain road toward me - Bicycle Adventures obviously got a good deal on a multitude of these things. Arriving at the entrance, a guide identifying himself as Doug greeted me. After a quick chat, I asked him if he knew Marty (our guide on Tour 1) to which he replied yes. Passing on a message for Marty, I informed Doug he sucked. Doug looked at me and informed me that he didn't know Marty all that well, but Marty did know another guide on this tour, Brandon, very well and he suspected I was meant to tell Brandon he sucked! Bluffing it, I told Doug that he likely sucked anyway, to which he responded with a laugh and a vicious kick to my groin. Well, he did laugh, and from there on in, he and I got on excellently: our Polar Bear Club escapade and his towing me around Alberta for a day will be detailed later. Suffice to say, Doug was a total character and a great guy.

As Doug was sticking my stuff into the van and my bike on top, several people wandered out from Kandahar, two of them wheeling a tandem. They turned out to be Steve and Amy, and their son Jacob, all taking the tour. They'd also stayed the night at the Lodge, but we hadn't seen each other. We made our introductions and they appeared to be well informed about me "the Australian". They asked me where my other head was, to which I replied like all humans I know, Australians only had one! (I jest). I admired their tandem and admired even more the fact they planned to scale mountains with it (which they did, and admirably too).

Piled into the van for the trip to Grouse Mountain Lodge, our official tour start point and the place where the majority of the group were staying. On the way I got the chilling news - Jacob, the teenage son, was to be my roomate. The horror! After my being spoilt on the first tour with my own rooms, the prospect of sharing filled me with dread, and with a teenager what's more! There was no god! As it turned out, Jacob turned out to be a great person, friendly, bright, fun and always eager to tell you you sucked! Steve and Amy were great ppl and excellent parents. I'm sure Amy feared for her son's sanity, being stuck with an Aussie, but I'm sure I put her fears to rest over the tour: I definitely only tweaked his sanity a little!

The entire group coming together at Grouse Mountain Lodge was the usual hectic process of name revealing and forgetting, lots of new faces (it was an 18 person tour), bikes going everywhere, and general mayhem. Alisa, our third and female guide, a real sweety (and a honey - grrrr), must have got asked the same questions about a million times: after witnessing her deal with an oft-repeated one, I cruelly asked it again seconds later just to see the reaction. Her mouth smiled but her eyes glistened with tears of frustration, followed by a flicker of satisfaction as she contemplated revenge further down the track! I also got to meet Brandon and finally was able to tell the correct guide 'you suck!'. Brandon, another great character, appeared unphased - I'm not sure what Marty is in for!

What seemed like eons later, following briefings, ride notes, tour intros etc etc, we were finally liberated and sent on our way for the mornings 34km ride thru' Whitefish central and Northern Montana country to Blankenship Bridge. Once again, I resolved to foresake the handlebar bags and displayed tour notes and rely on my inate powerful sense of direction. At least here it was pretty difficult to get lost - after following a pack of people thru' the winding town route, it was basically one road to the bridge: the only two turns I managed to negotiate in the right direction.

My first tour's cycling was paying dividends: along the rolling roads thru' picturesque and mostly flat farmland and forest I was breezing along, and feeling at one with the bike - a feeling that stayed with me almost the entire trip aside from one diabolical session I will recount later. It was a great day - blue sky, crisp but warming, and perfect for riding. Lovely! I don't recall whom I met/passed on the road very well during this ride - I just remember feeling overwhelmingly glad to be riding right there and right then.

Almost too soon, Blankenship Bridge appeared. Off to its left was our first lunch stop of the tour, a nice little drive-off area overlooking the river. Also, it had a five star toilet - a bonus we would later come to appreciate as most outside conveniences were the classic drop-dunnies: large pits in the ground. The more stars the better, the less look out! Several of these facilities we encountered on tour were real retch inducing!

Arriving before the van, I and several others took the opportunity to wander around taking photos. Jabe, a lean fit looking guy around my age and as I later found out, a superb rider, clambered up to the bridge whilst his partner Julie and I, also an excellent rider and a lovely lady, had a small chat. I later came to really admire and appreciate these two ppl - real gems. I also loved Jabe's bike, a classic older Merlin (which instantly means something to anyone who appreciates bikes).

Then I harnessed my totally lame skills and proceeded to photograph everything around the general area, but in a way which made it look entirely identical and of no intrinsic eyeball value! It's a skill! Below is one of my less inept captures:



I then wandered down over the steepish bank to the water's edge to test out the theory of whether water in rivers originating from snow covered peaks was cold. Strangely enough - it was! However I also found out that no matter how cold, it always felt great on feet liberated from cycle shoes trapped on pedals for hours!

Soon after the van arrived, with food and some unwanted info. One of the group (Ken, a dad touring with his two grown sons Kevin and Scott) had been involved in a bingle, and had done a bit of a face-plant on the road. A short doctors visit and a day later, with some facial scrapes and some dental re-arrangement, Ken hit the tour again and hit the bikes soon after. Wow - whay a guy! He and his sons went on to thoroughly enjoy the rest of the trip, and were a great addition to the party. I was struck particularly at the obvious respect and friendship these three had for each other - a real family group.

Lunch was a replica of those on tour 1; delicious, plentiful and allowing the personal decision of whether to dine on all that is good for you or pig out on masses of 'naughty' food. I'd learned in the first tour that a balance was best, but what I needed to come to realise was that on these tours covering more kms per day, lunch intake shouldn't be excessive i.e. enough to immediately send you into a deep trance.

Post-lunch, we took a trance-deepening van trip to the start of our next ride of the day (the road after the bridge was unpaved for some distance hence the need for vanning). The drive took us back to paved road, and rolling hilly terrain, past blue lakes and dense forests. Which we kept passing. Why the hell weren't we riding these beautiful roads? I was just about to raise this point when all became clear: we stopped, bundled out, and were told we were to ride back along these same roads - excellent! 34kms back to our digs for the night, Lake McDonald Lodge via Agpar on Lake McDonald.

As ppl headed off, I had to answer the call of nature and thus visited the 'Green Door'. Scooting down an embankment to the privacy of bushy cover, I kept scooting and ended up embedded in said bush, in which prickly plants therein proceeded to ravage me. Ow! Luckily this occurred prior to actually 'unpacking'. I deemed privacy to be less of a concern from there on.

The ride back to Agpar was once again a joy - floating above the tarmac at speed and taking in the sites was soothing mentally and physically and the kms flew by. The road dipped and climbed through the forest - nothing too strenuous - and the warm air and sun added to the joy.

Along the way I saw a deer and, even tho' I had seen approximately 5 thousand of them by this stage, I had to stop and take a pic. Carefully stalking nearer down the slight bank I got to within about 3 meters of the unsuspecting creature. The deer was in a conspiracy with nature - as I raised my camera I fell flat on my arse for the second time that day! Hastily rising, I looked around and noted with joy that my drunken-guy fall had gone unnoticed with none of my fellow riders except Jabe in sight, and he'd obviously seen so many deer his visual system merely ignored them and he was looking the other way. Even the deer didn't move a millimeter or even raise it's head! Clearly ppl trying to photograph it fell flat on their arses all the time.

Getting back into the groove, I grooved all the way back to Agpar, our turning-off point, and kept grooving. Missed another turn! It became clear that, at least in this part of Montana and later Canada, road directions didn't generally forewarn you - if a turn sign was there it meant turn then. Back in Australia, drivers are so dumb that we must be told that we will soon be turning, and a pre-turn warning sign warns us about the turn sign coming up. Here you were assumed to be capable.

Arriving at Agpar minutes later (it was a small detour past for me) we slowly congregated as ppl came in from the ride, awaiting final instructions about the last few kms to our place for the night, Lake McDonald Lodge. I took more crappy photos of the lake - well it's just a big lot of water really! Pic below attests to this (Jabe is in there for scale - he is small, it is large):



In the background distance of the pic lurks the land of the Going-to-the-Sun Rd and the pass we must scale tomorrow.

The reason for our congregating became clear - we had to cross a checkpoint into Glacier Park en masse (it costs but it's pre-paid by BA). Having been allowed thru' we continued on the short cycle to Lake McDonald Lodge, dinner, and our rooms for the night.

I don't recall a whole lot about the lodge, but the accommodation was separate little shacks, two units to a shack, lined up and facing, thru' trees, the Lake shore. For some reason it reminded me of the school holiday camp in the episode of the Simpsons, Camp Krusty? Nice enough tho', and there were no occupant riots. After 'squaring things away' (the military theme seems apt) Jacob and I wandered down to the rocky shore of the lake and sat down, me dipping my toes in the somewhat chilly water. Tour guide Brandon soon appeared and talk turned to the Polar Bear Club, the mythical Druid-like ensemble that one could join if one plunged into various bodies of icy water each day (bar one - a rest day) of the tour. So, he and I plunged in. Once in, it was actually very nice - staying close to shore however was preferable as there was a significant temperature gradient which quickly approached frozen at greater depths. Had a nice 15 min swim and then headed back to the cabin for a shower and prep for the evening meal.

Which I am sure was lovely but I don't remember a thing about it! *shrug*. Perhaps the stinging plants I'd encountered earlier had rendered me mindless? And so...

Day 2 approaches: 34kms of the Going-to-the-Sun Rd climb, including 19.5km at 6% gradient, 3840ft of climbing vs my 92kg, plus bike, and a nowhere near low enough gear of 39/23: who will win?