Thursday, August 4 Day 19     I survive the night. Although I would have to add that sleeping in the pouring rain is entirely new to me. I admittedly wasn't thinking all too clearly last night. Sleeping the whole night with the helmet on is still a new one to me. I pack up before anyone else is up in the campground and head south.     New Denver is four miles south of the park. It's the first town that I come to. Coasting into town, I'm feeling relaxed, kicking back and refreshed from sleeping even those few hours.  As odd as it may sound after a night like this last one, being aboard the motorcycle and traveling again is a tremendous relief. And it's not raining.     I ride slowly through the sleepy town along Slocon Lake. No one is in the streets, no movement from anywhere. This could be Mayberry. Prior to the First World War at the turn of the century, the town was a booming mining area. In 1920, the boom ended and industry eventually shifted to logging.     New Denver is one of the sites of the Japanese internment during the Second World War. There's a serene Japanese garden here. It serves as an interpretive and memorial center for the thousands of Japanese Canadians "displaced" to here. A large number of women, children, and elderly men were sent to the "Orchard," a portion of New Denver created for their arrival, while the majority of the men between 18 and 45 were sent to eastern Canada. These Japanese-Canadians lived in small shacks, at times with no heat and very little money for food.

Over 4000 were interned here in 1942. After the war ended, many Japanese left behind glowing gardens filled with vegetables, fruit trees, and flowers. The Kohan Reflective Garden is a memorial in that memory. These flower gardens are still here today to remember the 21,000 interned during the Second World War. In addition, many Japanese who live in the area, are descendents of those interned. Aside from the memorial, it looks like any other little town in the Canadian Rockies.     The road heads south, winding between the Valhalla Provincial Park and Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park into Slocon and Winlow. Slocon Lake lies along Highway 6 surrounded in western red cedar and western hemlock. The highway begins to climb and the lake fades below the road as the elevation climbs in the Selkirk Mountains. The morning air is cool and brisk. I bundle up and settle in to the steady hum of the motorcycle beneath me. I really enjoy starting out early. It's one of the few times the roads are clear of encumbersome campers and tourists. In the early morning, the odometer clicks past the 7000-mile mark. I have traveled 7000 miles in the last few days. It is a warming thought.     These are the beautiful moments in time all motorcyclists dream of. Little mountain towns pass by one after the other. They rest in sleepy valleys, any one of which could be found on a postcard rack somewhere. I stop at the Silverton Hotel and treat myself to breakfast. There is something indeed magical about doing the first hundred miles of the day before breakfast. I sit at my table alone eagerly devouring pancakes. I am the only one in the entire restaurant, arriving just as they are unlocking the doors. I try to write in the trip journal but I cannot bring myself to rest long enough once I finish my meal. The road calls.     Reaching Castlegar, "The Heart of the Kootenays", near the southern end of Lower Arrow Lake, the lake is known for herds of mountain sheep that live along the shores. Castlegar has many large communal homes and orchards in the area, indicative of the Doukhobor heritage of the area. The Doukhobor are a pacifist religious sect that emigrated from Russia at the end of the 19th century seeking religious and social freedom in Canada. The area restaurants serve traditional dishes and this area to Grand Forks has many Russian descendents of those who came to Canada. Near the airport is a museum, the Doukhobor Village Heritage Museum that gives all the details.

Slocon Lake

I motor on by heading up and up into the mountains to 5036 feet over Bonanza Pass. The temperature stays brisk as the elevation climbs and the view increases. I motor on some then discover a rest stop nestled in a grove of trees along a rushing mountain stream. This looks like a great place, my very own picnic table to munch on a midmorning snack of apple pie and blueberries I bought in Kamloops yesterday.     Can't stay though, am chased away by more impeding rain, all this morning it was sunny and pleasant although the ground is quite damp beneath my boots. I retreat to the motorcycle and motor off, hoping to stay ahead of any rain showers. Luckily, I miss the edge of the storm as menacing clouds float overhead.     The road begins to roll downhill, as though the earth was tilted and I could coast for miles. An hour later, I stop at another roadside rest stop. In the famous words of when I was eight, I am beginning to not feel so good and my tummy is beginning to hurt. I sit for while becoming greener than white and vomit as though my insides were turning inside out. I begin to feel a little better hoping this is a one shot deal.     I motor along Crowsnest Highway 3 along the resort area of Christina Lake. My condition begins to worsen. By the time I reach Grand Forks 17 miles later, I am so sick, I can barely focus enough to ride the motorcycle. It's 3:30 P.M. and as the first motel comes into view, I know it is my only choice. I would normally keep going until dusk but at midafternoon, I call it a day. I feel horrible. I park the bike and walk towards the entrance. I don't even make it that far, vomiting again out of view to hide my embarrassment and discomfort. I hit the room, shower and try to sleep it off. My stomach is in knots. It hurts to even move. It's as if someone has punched me as hard as they can in the stomach. I am doubled over at times on the bed, clutching my sides and trying to weather through the spasms.     Over the rest of the afternoon and into the evening I repeatedly empty the contents of my stomach again and again. Even taking a tiny drink of water to quench the burning in my throat, a sip, and within minutes I am doubled over in dry heaves all over again. My entire body aches. I moan and groan and try to sleep to no avail. The TV has a total of four channels, quite a selection to try and take my mind off of this.     Sleep is my only solace as I must allow my body to purge itself of whatever it is that has invaded my system. I vomit over ten times; the spasms are just intense, again and again into the evening and early morning. It is one of those odd times when you know that you are completely alone on a trip. As high as my spirits were this morning, it all can come to a screeching halt in hours or even minutes.     Here alone in this room with the drone of the TV in the background, there are times when I am startled by the sound of my own voice. There is no companion to coax me along. It is only I, yet I know that I will pull through. There is only one option and that is to survive. I am so very sick and it turns out to be a very rough day alone here in this room.

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