Lillooet – 150 Mile House (275km, 640km total)
July 17, 2020
Lillooet – Cache Creek, 87km
I am dreaming about my dad. He is asking me for help with something. Without awareness that I am dreaming, I say, “I can’t help you. This is only a dream.”
Later, I try to speak but can’t. Pressure builds up in my lips and jaw until I moan myself awake in discomfort.
Sometimes, waking up sane feels so improbable.
Morning.
For the second time, I had breakfast in A Bun Dance. For the second time, the food was so close to excellent. Just a little bit more of a reheat on that sausage roll would have done it!
For the second time, I saw an old man whittling away his morning alone. How did he get here? Where are his friends? Did he imagine his life coming to this? I must be afraid of getting old, though I don’t often feel it explicitly. It looks lonely. I am not an island, but age is a rising sea that eventually makes islands out of us all.
Leaving every town is the same. I feel loss, a severance. Perhaps the principal evidence of a truly great experience is fear that what will follow will not measure up.
The road out of Lillooet climbed for about 35km. It was hard work, but the patchy sky ensured that I never got too hot from it. I had frequent moments of deja vu from my ride through the Fraser Canyon in 2013. I spent a good part of the morning ride anticipating a particular spot where I’d taken a photo back then.
I welcomed the serviceberries adorning the road shoulder.
Pavilion, a small roadside first nations reserve, was closed due to COVID. A shame, as I had planned for lunch at a restaurant there. More disappointingly, Marble Canyon up the road, a place I’d previously visited, was packed with people. I soon abandoned my plan to go for a leisurely afternoon swim there.
As I climbed out of the Fraser Canyon, I saw views as good as any I’d seen on the Duffy Lake Road, and in some ways they were more profound. The relative lack of vegetation afforded me an expansive view of the terrain. I could perceive beautiful shapes in the land that a forest might have obstructed. Even the road itself looked like a work of art at times. Old memories of Eagle Plains and the Top of the World Highway stirred within me.
As soon as I began to descend the final 20km of Highway 99, I hit an exhausting headwind that erased all ambitions I might have had about making it to Clinton, about 30km north up Highway 97. Instead, I decided to go south about 10km to Cache Creek. This slight adjustment meant that the day’s ride would now be an exact mirror of the one I completed back in 2013.
Fish & chips for dinner at a local lodge, followed by some fishing. For information, that is. About a place to camp. I wasn’t able to camp where I did back in 2013, just behind the Petro-Canada. Just as well, because a quick look at where I’d previously pitched my tent left me wondering what originally drove me to settle for such a poor campsite in the first place.
I eventually found a patch of grass next to the Cache Creek post office. I pitched my tent beneath a willow tree and next to a noisy roiling river. An evening breeze gently billowed my tent.
I wasn’t sure where I would be the next day, but I was excited, because wherever it was, it would be completely new to me. I’d never before taken Highway 97 by bike.
July 18, 2020
Cache Creek – 100 Mile House (112km, 560km total)
I woke up a lot last night, but I still felt rested. After packing up, I went back to the lodge where I’d eaten dinner the night before, initially intending to only get a coffee but finally succumbing to the temptation of warm food.
I hit the road at 9am. To Clinton!
I had been warned many times about a big hill after Clinton, but no one mentioned the massive hill before Clinton! Just about 10km of climbing. During that climb, the climate changed significantly. Gone was the desert. In its place were forested hills that occasionally broke away to reveal more expansive views. I had entered Cariboo Country.
In Clinton, a nice old man bought me a latte.
I reflected on the weather, now quite a bit cooler. I had climbed to just under 1000m elevation!
Leaving Clinton, I was ready for more hills, and I wasn’t disappointed. The first was about 6km. By the time I summited, I was at nearly the same elevation as the Duffy Lake Road pass. How un-mountainous and flat everything around me looked.
Just before arriving at 70 Mile House, I met another cyclist, Nicolas, from Montreal. He had just come out of the Fraser Canyon backcountry, where he’d spent many days bike packing and searching for climbing routes.
We ate together at a “for sale” pub in town and decided that we’d push on together to 100 Mile House, despite how late it already was (6pm). We had about 42km to go, but the weather was gorgeous. The highway was quiet, flat, and calling.
Soon, the weather took a turn for the worst. The rain began. Mosquitoes didn’t seem to care. My mood changed quickly and dramatically.
We rode in silence, taking in what scraps of beauty remained in the fading light of the day. The highway was now four lanes wide and completely empty.
At some point before 100 Mile House, Nicolas and I got separated. As I sped down the massive, pothole-riddled hill into town, I forgot about the rendezvous point we’d agreed upon, and by the time I recalled it, I was too cold and wet to think about doubling back to find him. We’d surely reconnect in the morning.
I took in a cheap motel (in quality, not price) and promptly stuffed my face. I felt like a bit of a softy, considering that Nicolas was at the same moment likely sleeping on the sidewalk next to the cafe. I suppose I was still acclimating to my adventure, but there was something severe in me that immediately propelled me to the hotel. Something at odds with what I was trying to accomplish on my tour.
I went to sleep ill at ease.
July 19, 2020
100 Mile House – 150 Mile House, 76km
You get what you pay for, and sometimes, you get what you pay to avoid, in this case a stiff back in the morning. Sleep was poor. Would camping with Nicolas on the pavement been a better choice after all? Probably.
Despite us losing touch the previous evening, and despite our intended rendezvous cafe being closed today (Sunday), we were able to connect after all, at what was probably the only open cafe in town.
It was a nice cafe! Great atmosphere and menu, and a clearly happening joint: for the entirety of Nicolas and my visit, there was a consistent lineup. We shared a casual morning, sweetened by Nicolas sharing his (second!) breakfast with me.
I was struck with how affable Nicolas was to nearly everyone. His personality bubbled up from a bottomless spring of enthusiasm and positivity. I wondered if this was his baseline, or if it was due to the recent two weeks he’d spent alone in the bush. Perhaps the two weren’t mutually exclusive.
We rolled out of town after 11am. Only 76km to 150 Mile House. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
Headwind. Nosewind. Cursed wind. The entire way. The only “reprieves” were hills steep enough to block it. Frequent breaks were the only thing that made the day manageable, but I was till so frustrated. I hope that Nicolas understood the source of my anger and not just my chosen words, as I recognize that the two often pointed in different directions.
Fortunately, I’d be meeting with my friends at 150 Mile House. John and Sally used to live in Cobble Hill. I met John many years ago while we both worked for Victoria Taxi. Now, they shared a small property in a small satellite of Williams Lake called Big Lake Ranch. Ever since I’d first planned on this tour, we’d talked about meeting up, and it was finally happening.
walking if the hills became too steep. He was also carrying a
huge amount of gear, so this is understandable.
A few stray notes from the day:
- Vanilla, chocolate, peanut butter ice cream with pitted cherries and maple beef jerky make a tasty combination.
- Roadside fruit stands are awesome and often run by really interesting people, but they aren’t necessarily selling local fruit.
- Spending 30 minutes coordinating a naked bike ride photo was worth it.
- It is possible to lose one’s hearing enough for the sound of gophers to be in audible.
- I am not too old to lose my shit at noisy traffic, and it feels pretty good sometimes.
- Even if the wind is not rustling the roadside grass, flowers, or shrubs, it’s still somewhere.
- The wind that does rustle plains of grass is involved in the creation of something beautiful and is thus permissible.
- Hills are certainly preferable to wind.
After calling John about 5km out from 150 Mile House, after climbing the final 2km hill into 150 Mile House, after cursing everything under the sun including. my bike, I met John.
Nicolas and I said our goodbyes before John and I drove the 40km to his home in Big Lake Ranch. John, Sally, and Jack (their dog) visited into the evening. I went to bed in complete silence.
Time for a few days of rest.
goflowjoe.wordpress.com 