The arrival of morning brings a moment where I am finally
able to hold down a sip of water. Sometime about 3 or 4 in the morning, the
fever breaks and I sleep a restless sleep. An hour or so later, I can keep down
an entire glass of water but I haven’t eaten anything in 24 hours.
By midmorning, I am ready to leave. My whole body feels sore
but the fever has passed and my stomach has settled down. I slowly pack up the
motorcycle pulling out onto the road and resume the journey. The motorcycle is
as always a comforting sound as I ride through Grand Forks and out onto the
highway. I think now that I am going to have to be a little more careful about
what I eat. Hopefully this was only a 24-hour thing.
I head back into this strip of land marred by sagebrush and
desert like mountainous lands past Osoyoos (pronounced O-sue-yes) and Osoyoos
Lake. The word means "narrows of the lake" or where two lakes come
together. Obviously, there are two lakes right next to each other separated by a
narrow isthmus of land. It kind of reminds me of Madison, Wisconsin. A town
settled on a narrow strip of land, also between two lakes.
Grapes, cherries, apples, and peaches are grown locally in
orchards dating back to 1890 here in the valley known for its wine. They even
had irrigation canals dug by 1919 to support the orchards. For as much of
British Columbia as I have seen, Osoyoos by far has the strangest climate. It’s
the only desert climate in Canada, an actual arid desert, having the lowest
rainfall, highest temperature, and the warmest lakes. They have prickly pear
cactus, antelope bush, and even sand dunes in the area.
Even more, the area has been populated for several centuries
starting with area Indians. There are known pictographs on area mountain walls
and in caves with nomadic tribes thought to have lived here as far back as 1066.
The town is believed to be the site of the furthest reaches
of the Spanish Conquistador explorers in the middle 1500’s although it might
be worthwhile to add I am only a couple miles from the Unites States border. The
first white men didn’t arrive until 1811, which led to the eventual
establishment of the Hudson Bay Company.
The town claims the best climate in all of British Columbia
but I bet that depends on whom you talk to. I am just plain old surprised to
find a desert in the middle of British Columbia after riding through thousands
of miles of forests.
Near Cawston, I follow the signs to the Grist Mill along the
Keremeos Creek to take a break. It’s a restored turn of the century flour mill
that is supposed to be totally authentic. Area farmers grew grain in the area,
and the mill ground it to supply the miners headed to the Kootenay gold fields.
Barrington Price, the mill’s builder eventually lost control of the mill. It
was dismantled in 1897 and turned into a chicken house. All the pieces were
stored nearby in one place until it was discovered in 1980, each piece intact.
Although there were no plans and few pictures of the mill
existed, a man by the name of Cuyler Page set off on the arduous task of
reconstructing the mill from the jumble of machinery pieces. The pieces all
worked together with a series of belts and pulleys. Piece by piece, the mill was
reassembled from the old photos, grease marks, holes in the floorboards, and
plain old intuition. Now the mill is a nice little attraction for gawkers like
me. I drink it all in and motor on to Keremeos through the Similkameen Valley.
The town is small but there are fruit stands everywhere. And of course, I should
have seen this one coming- it’s known as the "Fruit Stand Capital of
Canada." I skip the fruit. I think I have had enough fruit on this trip.
Mountainous landforms welcome me into Cascade Provincial
Recreational Area or otherwise called Manning Park, which borders along the
United States. It’s the northern extension of North Cascades National Park in
the States. I am traveling due west toward Vancouver and have dropped down
through British Columbia. It feels as though I am sort of backtracking. In
Kamloops the other day, I was only about 150 miles from Vancouver but I was
headed in the opposite direction to the east. It is indeed odd to be this close
to the United States and running parallel to it. I keep thinking the U.S. is on
the other side of that big hill right there to my left.
All the best lands have been made into parks. I am not
disappointed and the park is fantastic. Up and over Allison Pass to 4400 feet
and downhill for a good 10 miles or so. It seems like forever as the road drops
out of the mountains. I ride on eventually becoming a bit bored, something that
doesn’t usually happen very often. So I zip the bike up to 75 to get the blood
flowing again.
One of the things I have enjoyed about Canada is the scarcity
of those law enforcement types. After traveling all across western Canada, I
haven’t seen a single cop except in the towns. Even more, there is so much
land and so much space, much of the roads I have traveled are long and flat. It
makes me wish I could trade this in for a Kawasaki ZX-11, the fastest production
sportbike in the world. It’s my dream bike.
The day is flowing into a rather relaxed one of letting my
physical body recuperate and not eating anything. I ride through some narrow
valleys, tall impressive mountains and out I come. I can tell I have been on the
road for quite some time, 20 straight days, because I look up at a majestic
mountain that would inspire awe into the most common person, and I simply say,
oh neato, and motor on. Have seen a lot of mountains on this trip.
On to Hope, I try to skirt around it but hop on the freeway
by accident. It feels a little odd going that fast surrounded by all those busy
people and their busy lives hurriedly trying to get wherever they’re trying to
go. I pull off at the first exit and take Highway 9 instead. It must be the
original road before the freeway to Vancouver was built as they run parallel
towards Vancouver.
I reach the outskirts of Vancouver about 6 in the evening,
find a payphone and give Scott a call. He says come on over and gives me the
directions to Maple Ridge, one of the older towns annexed by the encroaching
city on the northeast side of Vancouver. Soon I pull up to the one story house
set back from the road in an older 50’s style neighborhood. It’s the kind of
place where your neighbor has horses in their back yard.
Scott Kelly is on a rescue mission, and I arrive just in time
to assist him. Some guy he met up in Whitehorse broke down on his Honda in
Vancouver so we are in need of a truck. Scott calls a friend, arranges to get a
pickup truck from his buddy Fred. We finally make it over to the gas station
where they are at 10:30. From the moment I arrive, Scott treats me as though we
have known each other our entire lives. On the way over, we chat about how my
trip is going and how his turned out. Scott just got back to Vancouver a day or
so ago.
We reach a gas station in the middle of town and there are
two guys standing next to their bikes. It was Marty that called and Scott greets
him warmly. Marty is from Pennsylvania and riding across North America on a Harley.
So far he has 74,000 miles on a rather new looking Dynaglide. Orse is this Swiss
guy he teamed up with when the two of them met in Alaska. They have been riding
together ever since. Orse is riding a Honda Africa 750, a sort of enduro version
of a Paris Dakar. It looks like a TransAlp, probably is.
Anyway, something has busted on the Africa. It’s one of
those on road off road bikes with metal saddlebags called panniers. Orse says he
made them himself. His accent is very thick and it’s an effort to converse. On
the sides are stickers and a map of North America and Europe with outlined
countries and states. Many of the countries and assorted states are filled in
with different color paints. This guy has been around.
Orse thinks the rear wheel bearing has finally gone out. So
the four of us, all now best friends, load it into the truck and toss in Orse’s
gear from the bike. Scott and I ride in the truck while Orse rides in the back
with his bike. Mary pulls up the rear on the Dynaglide. Driving through the city
of Vancouver at night with its two million people, I keep expecting something
really spectacular. Instead it reminds me of just another city. There are lots
of bridges though. At least I can say that.
On the way back, Scott tells me a little about the house. He
has lived in it for 33 of his 37 years. The front house is where his mother
still lives. His place is like a guesthouse built in the back yard that he calls
home. I ask again what he does for a living and he replies vaguely that he’s
on some sort of disability and the government pays him all the money he needs.
Arriving back at the house, it’s a bit of a motorcycle
shrine. In the living room, there is a Harley Davidson Wide-glide front end
straight off the motorcycle. The wide front tire, chromed rim, and wide handle
bars set the tone for the interior. Scott says he picked the front end up from a
buddy who converted his bike into a chopper. He doesn’t know why he has it. He
gives the male response that he just might need it someday.
Orse, in his rough English with a heavy Swiss accent says he
is shipping his bike back to Germany tomorrow. He says it is great luck that the
bike broke down today since he is at the end of his journey. I ask him why he is
traveling. He replies that his girlfriend of several years ended their
relationship. Her loss, he says smiling at me through his thick brown beard.
He was part of the Swiss Police for many years and left his job when the
relationship ended. He sold off a lot of his possessions related to his former
girlfriend, another broad smile, and bought the bike with the money. He has been
traveling around North America of the last three months. He says that while the
bike goes back to Germany, he flies off to Calgary tomorrow to meet up with a
lady he met while traveling. Still another broad smile. |
