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 7.

Day 7 of the tour, and Jacob and I are dawdling today (likely my fault as the movie I insisted on watching didn't finish 'til 12:00am!).

Over in the Resort eatery, other tour members have long gone and I 'grab and run' various foods - I still need to pack my stuff and get organised. I leave Jacob tending to his stomach and I tend to my stuff.

Completing the usual process of 'stuff the van' - we bring stuff and the guides stuff it - we check bikes out and then are off in dribs and drabs. It's chilly out and somewhat overcast so I'm rugged up in long leggings, an undershirt, long-sleeved winter top covered by a lighter cycling top, and my warm but eye-searingly bright yellow long-fingered gloves (the idea is to look fast, rather than be fast). I actually dress like this the majority of mornings over here - whilst the temperatures we experience most mornings of the tour are comparable to Perth's mild winter ones on the scale, it seems to me to be a different kind of temperature: the chill seems to penetrate more bitingly. By the time lunch rolls around I am thoroughly warmed up and can discard some layers. Ppl have commented on my overheating potential, but I never do - I just discard what is no longer required at lunch. Today I am to be glad I rugged up - later at lunch we stand on a Glacier and the chill I find intense.

Just before we go I grab a pic of the van in the parking lot - it disappears into the bowels of my camera lens and is never seen again. I know I took it coz I spent a while composing it to get the van, resort sign, and most of our members in shot, all from a funny angle that comprised me lying contorted on the ground. Also, it was there in the viewfinder post-shot in all its glory! Meh!

David, Jabe and I end up tootling along together for a while. The roads are barely rolling at this stage so they cannot shame me with their prowess (and my lack of it) up rises - in fact I go so far as to say I am OK on flats and amongst the kings of downhills, thanks chiefly to my 'racing weight': 92 kilograms and downhills are a fun combo.

At about 30km into this mornings ride we are to ascend Sunwapta Pass, which according to my only-now-consulted guide notes, rises 580 meters over a distance of some 14km - a very reasonable 4% grade average: simple! Closer inspection of said notes doesn't reveal that there is a rather longish 'rise' of about 8km which contributes the bulk of this altitude gain: more like a 7.25% average gradient over this distance. Hmm, more interesting!

Luckily, I hadn't inspected my guide notes this morning (as per usual) so was blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. Jabe and I continued to bowl along (I think David had gone back to ride with Emily and Bonnie - clearly he knew what was in store) at a good clip up slightly rising terrain. At one stage I happened to glance up and see a rather large mountain ahead of us, but the road didn't appear to go in that direction - it continued to follow a wide river pan to our left. Some rising terrain ahead took my concentration and slowed me a little - Jabe moved ahead at this point.

Rounding a curve nearer the foot of the mountain that turned away from it, I again glanced up: the curve ran away from the steep cliff and then did a complete 180 and carved up in one straight line along its face! OK, take a breath, steel yourself and hello grind! Jabe had rounded the re-curve and was heading up the slope so I wouldn't see him until after the top - it was just me, my bike and this incline. Later, on the day after the tour, on which I rode back in the van with Alisa to the tour originating point, we came to the crest of this mountain from the other side and were greeted with a sweeping view of everything below: WAY below! It impressed me that we all got over this!

The nature of the initial incline was not one I appreciated - up to a point it slowly increased in pitch as one progressed and then varied (which makes it difficult to get a rhythm). Some points felt very steep. With nowhere to go gearwise - 39 by 23! - I decided to have a system: 500 meters out of the saddle to gain some momentum (ha!) and 500 meters in the saddle to 'rest'. My forward progress slowed to just under 11km/h, which, with my modest climbing ability and the gearing I had, was pretty much as slow as I could go and still manage to get the pedals over the top point of their motion and hence keep progressing. One complete pedal revolution (top to top) at that gearing equals a little over 3 meters of on-road distance - ridiculously easy on a flat but very grinding here.

2 km into the ride and I was in the red - time for a re-think. I decided to keep seated and just push the pedals thru' the floor. At this stage, I looked up and spied a bike ahead. I knew it couldn't be Jabe but it gave me something to chase. Closing in on it, I saw onboard a rider from another group who had been at the same resort the previous night. I'd greeted several of them last night and had got what I thought was a fairly snooty reaction. Turns out that (maybe) they were doctors and surgeons etc with ultra expensive equipment - ahah, just the stereotype (whether true or not) I needed to get me a little pissed and motivated! With a move which likely says far more about me, I sped up as best I could, put on my best 'this is piss easy' look, and swept past with a breezy "Hi!", leaving the clearly suffering guy in my wake. Hardly charming behaviour but hey, this was raw survival instincts. Ahead lay another 'victim' and then another!

Seeing all these potential smackdowns put a fire under my arse and I started burning up the climb, determined to catch and pass as many as I could. With cheery shouts of "Morning", "Nice day", "Great climb hey?", I rode by them (I even started getting out of my saddle as I passed to demonstrate the ease of my ascent) - what a bastard I was! Reaching a well appreciated false-flat, I knew the climb wasn't fully over but was into it now. The final part of the climb (about 2km) came and went - the fact that there was no-one else to pass was irrelevant now: I was fired up. In the distance I saw Jabe and vowed to catch him as the road was now a slight decline, and did so (he was loitering on the road) just as we reached the lunchtime turn off into the Icefield Center parking lot. Made it!

Jabe and I were first in, right behind Brandon and the van: rest time. Jabe as usual decided to turn around and find Julie so off he went for a descent and then a re-climb! I spent a few minutes gathering my thoughts and breath and then started surveying the scene across the road. Rather than describe it, I'll let the pics speak for themselves:

Stuttfield Glacier


Athabasca Glacier


Snow Dome


It was amazingly, staggeringly spectacular: no crappy photos could ever do it justice. Just go see it because sometime (a time which seems not far away) it will likely be gone.

I say this because at this point, I turned to Brandon and we had a chat about the eye-popping beauty of the place, and in passing, he pointed at a small cairn with an attached plaque nearby and said something I didn't quite catch. I moved over to the cairn: I read that at this very spot in 1850, the tip of Athabasca Glacier reached to here. Back then, if I'd been standing 20 feet further into what is now the carpark, I would have been buried in a river of ice.

Look at the photos - see the distance to the glacier: you figure out how far it's receded in that time. These little cairns depicting its recession as of various years are lined up funeral-procession-like all the way to the current foot of the glacier: the increase in speed of recession is there for all to see.

Don't give me arguments about the uncertainty of the anthropogenic influence on current warming climate conditions: policy makers and everyone get your arses up here and see this. It's a knee-collapsing, gut-shot, drop-to-the-floor heart and mind wrench. Do what you can people - ride bikes, drive less, use energy saver bulbs, turn off standby appliances, investigate solar heating and alternative power generation technologies: whilst everyone can appear hypocritical, because we all could do vastly more (absolutely myself included), we need to start it somewhere with ourselves first. It's already too late for this piece of rock and ice, but maybe other places most of us will never see can be preserved. The fact that they are there unseen is a reward enough.

To lighten the mood a little, Brandon informs me he has to move the van from its current spot - apparently we are parked on top of the Icefield Center's septic tanks and they are due to be pumped out! Eeeeewww - and lunch just about to start. Well stuff that! A bunch of us decide to walk over to the foot of the Athabasca Glacier and check it out.

Trundling off, we make our way across the road and up the trail to the foot of the glacier. Storyboards along the way depict in word and illustrations the dangers of walking on crevasse filled glaciers, the what I think are rather comical paintings of ppl jammed into crevasses freezing their arses off and perishing en masse getting me chuckling! The warnings get even less meaningful when you reach the glacier and all that presents a barrier between yourself and progress up the ice itself is a bunch of orange road cones in a pitiful semi-circle, the top of which has been scattered as hordes of intrepid explorers risk life and limb to smash thru' them on their way onwards and upwards. OK, I'm sure there is a danger no matter how slight, but at least back it up via authoritative barriers if you're that worried!

Taking a few seconds to survey the scene - I see no ppl plummeting to imminent death - we advance out onto the ice. At first it is fairly grubby and muddy with the detritus walkers have hauled up from the trail, but as we respectfully ascend (eyes out for crevasses altho' we have no idea what an as yet still covered one even looks like) the ice cleans up, and we are slowly walking onto white, crunchy ice along rivulets of water and amongst small ridges and dips. The ice has a pockmarked appearance - lots of tiny little sharp points and valleys, and in patches it is clear, and blue. You can hear water trickling and running - most of it is visible on the surface but in places it can be heard coming from beneath the crust: I stay away from walking on those spots. We wander round enjoying the views and the sensation of walking on this frozen terrain: it's a bit like moving around on some giant percolating creature and I'm struck by how long it's been here on this earth and how short a time I have.

We soon reach a point of limit, at least a mental one: whilst nothing is said, progress forward stops and we wander around an unmarked demarcation line, soaking in the view and sensations. I want to progress more - it's not a safety issue in my mind - but I don't because it would seem a bit - disrespectful? "Pay homage, but don't walk all over me" the glacier seems to say.

We gather for group photos: ppl kindly take cameras and share the duties. Here's the one from my camera, graciously taken by Jabe (the lower photo, complete with bloody camera strap!, records this).




Look closely at the first picture - you will observe something which, at first glance, passes you by, but when you really SEE, fills you with wonder and affirms we are not alone in this universe.

There is a 'visitor' in the picture (far left) - his name is Jeffrey. This is the same Jeffrey who survived a plummet to earth off his bike at ferocious speeds and who I later chatted to and came away with the sense that he was something special. He is special - he is an ALIEN!

How else does one explain the fact that he is standing on a glacier (consisting predominantly of ice), which is being swept by a wind of not inconsiderable velocity and thus rendering the immediate atmosphere in technical terms 'frigid', wearing nothing more than a singlet, shorts, sandals, a short haircut, and an enormous grin? Look at the rest of us - our poses clearly indicate we are just short of expiring from the cold. YOU CANNOT EXPLAIN IT BY ANY OTHER MEANS - he is plainly and simply a visitor from another galaxy.

It is my theory that he is from an advanced race who have perfected the ability to manipulate the micro environment around their body, achieving a state of constancy conducive to their wellbeing: he does this by somehow tapping the as yet unknown-to-us powers of tie-dye. My proof - I saw him in nothing other than this tie-dye 'singlet' (in reality the medium whereby his race taps into vast, fundamental unknown forces of the universe) during the entire time he was on tour!

The evidence is irrefutable. Luckily I treated him with nothing less than deep respect throughout the tour (especially after this awesome demonstration of his species' control over climate) and I believe an interstellar ship will be coming soon, delivering to me a similar garment, and the detailed instructions on how to harness its deep and universal powers.

Ok, I exaggerate a little? But it was hilarious to me - sort of like I imagine 'Close Encounters on Ice' would be!

In all seriousness, there IS something about Jeffrey - I predict greatness! (remember this when you are a millionaire dude and slip a few dollars my way!)

Trudging back to the lunch area, I approach the van with trepidation: has the septic tank been pumped yet? Yes it has, and no toxic gases or foul smells spoil the atmosphere. Lunch having been dispatched, it's on the bikes for a promised mecca of downhill riding - yeah!

Setting off on my own (the others try and catch my draft going downhill!) and expectations high, I proceed downhill at a nice clip and several kms roll by - until the sight of another hill! Huh? Wasn't the rest of the 49km meant to be all downhill, well at least a decent portion of it? 800m of uphill later, during which Jabe again passes me, the true long downhill starts and it's away. Jabe is in front and I back off for a while. On serious downhills, each rider is pretty much in their own environment: you don't like to think about it, but if something happens then a bit of distance is prudent.

Streaming downhill, I reach speeds of high 70km/h along the flowing, slow curved road. Scooted back on the seat for stability, my bike is carving up the corners and swallowing the straights. I occasionally pedal in my 53/12 high gear but it's not all that necessary and my greater weight means I creep too close to Jabe if I do. I start to think about cracking the 80km/h mark. Because it's a bit winding and some of the roads are slightly blind around corners (and mainly because I'm a big chicken!) my preservation instinct holds me back.

But then 'round a sharpish bend, a glorious sight - a very long, nicely declining straight! OK, a quick pedal up to high-60's and then hands down to the drops and tuck down for the ride! Arriving at the high 70's and coming up on Jabe, my bike gets a little squirmy and then a little more squirmy, and then a LOT squirmy! Eeekkkk - hands back up on the hoods, and get a bit of body into the airstream to slow myself down. Everything comes back together nicely - it seems pretty clear that it's getting into the drops which is the issue, possibly an aero thing. Unfortunately there is no more time to test this as this straight signals the return to more undulating road: whilst the ongoing journey to our destination of Sunwapta Resort involves a loss of altitude, it's not all that great from here and it's a roller-coaster of a ride from now on.

Here I think Jabe turned back, I'm not sure as after a while I was on my own. But not matter - it was warm and still and I was chugging along quite well. Then I hear a voice behind me - it's Doug in cruise missile mode coming alongside from behind. We exchange greetings and he comments that we haven't had a chance to ride together all tour: I interpret that as 'get a move on sucker'! So, it's time for a man-dance! I go up a cog and settle in for a stint up front and the train gets rolling. I'm pushing pretty hard as I don't want Doug to think of me as a wimp, and the pace is high. The rolling hills which I'd normally slow down considerably on I try and attack, and manage marginally well. Distance whizzes beneath the wheels and I'm up front for quite a while. Doug then comes by and indicates he'd better take a turn, and it's my turn to be impressed.

Doug isn't an overly large guy, fairly lean and toned rather than big-muscled, but on the bike he powers like a train, maybe TWO trains. And so I hop on the 'Doug-train'. Whilst our general flat road pace doesn't increase (I suspect he knows that's about it for me) our pace up the rises does, mainly because rises are pretty much taken by Doug at the same pace as flats! He doesn't crush hills like Mark - it's more just a glide over them, an occasional shift down a gear to keep the cadence up. I learn more about correct gear technique riding behind Doug on this one section than in all my riding to this point. And because the speed is kept up ascending these rises, I am actually getting towed up them - the aero advantage is enough that I can feel the assistance.

So, now a strategy has been worked out (mainly due to Doug's astuteness) - it's us sharing the flats, me leading mostly downhill, and Doug providing the tow uphill. We steam along (well at least my definition of steaming - I suspect Doug is just out on a Sunday ride). At one point Doug reminds me that I can drink - I'd forgotten about anything but the road: white line fever! That done, we steam on. Seemingly out of nowhere, a turn off appears on the road ahead - it's the Resort! Wow - that was fast. Thanks to Doug's assistance and encouragement, I've motored faster just now than ever before.

Doug turns around to check on his flock, ever the guide. This is a characteristic of all our guides Doug, Brandon and Alisa - whilst they clearly enjoy what they do, they are singularly professional at all times.

I sit around for a while enjoying the feeling of the ride and slowing down after the rush. The luggage van had arrived just before us and I pilfered a beer and then went off to sit near the road. After a quick scull of the bottle, I decided to pedal the 500 meters down the road alongside the resort to Sunwapta Falls for a sticky-beak. The falls are excellent, more of the narrow but deep gorge style - some piccies below:




Pedalling back, I meet a few group members who've just arrived - I tell them about the Falls and off they go.

I grab another beer and walk my bike back to the night's cabin. Jacob is inside watching TV - as old re-runs of Law and Order aren't showing, I sit on the porch and down the beer, then return and we watch a truly crappy local station. It's reassuring that TV is as shit over here as back home! After a shower, I hang my washed cycle gear (you throw it in the shower with you and stamp on it!) all over the porch - hopefully bears don't have a desire to wear lycra!. Back to watching TV, and Jacob and I conduct a running commentary deriding every aspect of the station, including howls of laughter, and howls of wolves and dogs. Emily later remarks that "you guys sure were making a lot of noise!".

Later that night we partake of a lovely barbeque (hmmm, steak!), fight over some leftovers, and then a game warden chats to us informatively about native wildlife. During this, Stuart volunteers as a prop and slowly acquires the look of a brown bear as he progressively dons various parts of the guise handed out by the warden. Actually he looks more like a hobo badly dressed liked a bear, but it's not his fault - his sense of cycle fashion had become legendary on tour: one day he donned a zebra-striped ensemble that was so good that he would've been immediately downed and devoured by a pack of lions if he was wandering on the plains of Africa. Hail clothes-bitch!

The night over, we wander back to our rooms and sleep. No TV as I'm pretty tired, a fact confirmed when I probably fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Tomorrow, Day 8, and our last time together as an entire group, ride or otherwise. Highlights include me getting pissed off over this fact and chucking an on-bike spazz; visiting Athabasca Falls; Jabe, David and I join up and ride one final time; Brandon joins in on the old Hwy 93 and we take a detour up Mt Edith Cavel for one last grindy climb and a bone-rattler of a descent; one last smooth descent into Jasper on which I pass Jabe and David, and 80km/h; one last ascent into Jasper on which Jabe and David pass me and race each other to the top, and lunch and farewell to the bikes and two lovely people.

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?