Across Continents

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Beyond Prince Rupert

October 9th, 2011

Beyond Prince Rupert from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Ken starts the next leg of his North American journey

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Final fling

October 8th, 2011

Final fling in Cowpuccino’s coffee bar, a short distance from the hostel. And an eggy breaky bagel for the road. I’d ordered a baa-g-ell but they seemed to understand. Quiet, The Germans, I thought, out on manoeuvres.

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It was Hawaii Day. Paper pineapples, resembling cheap Christmas decorations, on the tables. The staff had plastic flowers in the their hair. A chalk board announced ’Aloha’.

A man wandered in, sporting a bright blue shirt with a bold flower pattern. About to congratulate him for entering into the spirit of the occasion, whatever it was, I found myself stopping short. Suddenly unsure as to whether he’d donned it especially for the day, or whether it was just his normal attire. Time to return to the road.

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Tough audience ahead

October 8th, 2011

Karen seemed understanding. I’d phoned to explain I’d be a day adrift. Reckoned on a hundred miles or so to her family home on the outskirts of Terrace. Headwinds permitting, feasible in a day. Just. But she and her husband had three young boys, eager to meet me. Turning up late, departing early next morning would be quite rude.

So I’d settled on covering the ground over a couple of days. Planning to arrive mid to late afternoon so there’d be time to entertain the children. I’d asked the ages. Four, six and ten. Tough audience I joked. She laughed.

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Parental oversight

October 8th, 2011

Much, if not all, of my journey had been through uncharted territory. But now I was heading for Prince George, surprised to discover my parents had visited a decade or so earlier. They’d much more of an idea of what lay ahead than I did.

Knew they visited North America quite a bit, but not this far west. Had they, I enquired, seen bears? Yes, replied my Mum. But, there again, everyone but yours truly has.

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Mountains to climb, plateau to cross

October 8th, 2011

Three weeks to Seattle. I’d miss Meg Ryan but would have the chance to meet up with an old school friend I’d not seen in, well, decades. Planned to ride together for a while, just as we’d done as teenagers back in Pembrokeshire.

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Plan was simple enough. Inland, due east, from Prince Rupert, through the imaginatively named Coast Mountains to British Columbia’s interior plateau. It sounded flat, but you could never be sure. Fertile ground for headwinds, especially as I’d an idea they’d still be mostly southerlies.

From Prince George, at the northern end of the plateau, I’d turn due south, heading for the winter resort of Whistler. Too early, I hoped, for snow. But I’d a warm bed booked in a hostel for a few days. Planned respite from camping, chance to dry kit out, and confirm the arrangements for the next stage.

A few days later and I’d be in Vancouver, back once more on the west coast. Arranged to stay with some fellow cyclists, and hoped to meet a Kazakh masseuse I’d met back in Kazakhstan, but now a Canadian citizen living in the city. I was curious.

I’d balked at trying to pick a route amongst the busy highways south over the border. Deciding instead to take a short hop on the ferry to Vancouver Island, night or two there, then a fastcat into the US and Seattle itself. Leaving me about five miles through the city.

Quietly pleased with my solution. A certain elegance, a simplistic beauty I thought. Just had to push the pedals, turn the cranks, wild camp and avoid any aggressive bears. Or moose.

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Road to Seattle

October 8th, 2011

Road to Seattle from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Ken plans the next leg of his North American journey. A thousand miles south to Seattle, just over the border from Vancouver.

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Prince Rupert musings

October 8th, 2011

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I’d been a bit harsh. Rushing to judging the small British Columbian sea port of Prince Rupert in the dawn drizzle when I’d disembarked from the ferry. Ferreting around for an ATM so I could buy a warming cup of coffee.

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Found a delightful hostel – the Pioneer Backpackers Inn – on the edge of the equally pleasant, and rather stylish, Cow Bay part of town. Actually, I’d fellow cyclist Amelia to thank for recommending the spot to me, and a bit of a steer towards the nearby Cowpaccino coffee bar. Reminded me a little of Parisian cafes in the summer of 1940. Swarming with Germans.

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And there’d been a helpful dentist. Even a decent supermarket and a chance for proper food – fresh vegetables and fish rather than the inevitable on-road packet rubbish staple. Despite suggestions to the contrary, the prices seeming pretty reasonable. Fair. Well, cheaper than Australia. But where isn’t?

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Bear practicalities

October 8th, 2011

Whether we’d got it right or not, it did seem to be working. The bear precautions Mike and I had taken been a great success. Too much so. Never saw a single one in all of Alaska, Canada’s Yukon Province and northern British Columbia. Not one. Other than in captivity.

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Not that we’d gone to extremes to deter bears. Sought to balance risk against simple practicalities. Keeping our food away from the tents. Each securing our stash in waterproof dry bags, the contents packed in special odour proof plastic bags. We’d avoided using deodorant, adhering to the principle it’s best to smell err.. human.

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Some had suggested you should have only the absolute minimum in the tent – sleeping bag, mat – and bear spray of course. Premise being toothbrushes, plastics and a plethora of other manmade items emit odours that could attract unwelcome visitors. We’d both balked at this, fearful that placing most of our kit away from our camp would simply get it stolen. By two legged miscreants. Besides, we were hopeful the food stash would draw the bears away from us.

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There’d been conflicting advice as whether it was best to wild camp or use an established site. The former meant you were on your own, admittedly amongst bears who’d usually no interest in people, whereas the latter appeared to offer safety in numbers. That said, if food had been habitually left out, there was a real risk you might encounter a garbage bear – one conditioned to forage amongst humans.

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Much of the time we’d had to stow our food bags on the ground, or just off it to avoid pilfering by the smaller critters, rather than suspend it from a high tree branch far out from the trunk. Wrong sort of trees. We’d generally cooked away from the tents. But as for showering and changing one’s clothes before retiring for the night. Often impractical.

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So, what had I settled on? Keep my food a hundred metres or so from the tent. Remainder of my kit stowed in the panniers under the fly sheet. Bear spray always to hand, together with a knife should I have a violent encounter with a black bear, and satellite telephone in case I need to call the cavalry. Preference for wild camping, or clean, organised site amongst, or close, to towns or villages. And always cook away from the tent. Sensible precautions rather than simple paranoia.

[Canada’s Yukon Government produce an excellent pocket sized guide entitled "How you can stay safe in bear country" – by far the best read I’ve found on the subject – visit them at www.environmentyukon.gov.yk.ca]

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Marty and Pat

October 8th, 2011

Marty and Pat

Our third encounter. Just as I was about to enter a supermarket in Prince Rupert, they emerging. I’d originally met them back on the Haines Road, in Canada’s Yukon Province, a week or so back. Their large RV – recreational vehicle – parked in a small lay-by. I’d pulled in for a short break, conscious I’d still a fair way to go to make my ferry the next day.

There’d been a brief exchange of pleasantries. Marty and Pat. They had a daughter living in Guildford. And they’d lived in England themselves for a while. But no let up in the rain, so I’d headed off before I got too cold, and they took shelter in their RV. Also heading for Haines, but told there was no space left on the ferry south.

Next day onboard the M/V Matanuska I’d been caught by surprise. "Was I the cyclist we’d met?" asked Marty, for by now I’d showered and changed into more orthodox clothing. "Yes" I replied, adding I always sought to scrub up and use deodorant when amongst people. And, despite advice to the contrary, they’d managed to secure a place on the ferry. Heading south to spend a few days around the small port of Wrangell.

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Companionship

October 7th, 2011

Dentist chair a fine place for reflection. There was a television screen on the ceiling but my eyes were tightly closed. Can’t abide the sight of metal implements being wielded, even less needles. Besides, daytime television seemed as terrible as at home.

I’d enjoyed riding with Mike through Alaska and the Yukon. Shared experiences. Enriched by companionship. And hopefully there’d be chance to pair up with a couple of other cyclists further south around Seattle. Giles, an old school friend, and Amelia, whom I’d met back in Anchorage. I was really looking forward to it.

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