And that was my first day. Elkford was my tiny Antelope Wells. I had my first bad, muddy, snow-melt mountain pass to contend with. I had my first bonking experience. I had my first moment of desperation as I continued on in the dark, desperately watching for whatever light that the tiny town would emit. I had my first run-in with the wildlife, to which my trusty whistle (compass/thermometer/magnifying glass) scared back into the darkened woods. In one day I experienced a slew of emotions, tribulations, and trail conditions that would become like a trusted companion during the trip. I could always count on bad conditions, wildlife, and most of all, a sense of being all alone.
But if anything, that first day gave me hope. As I pitched a tent in an RV park at 12 AM by the light of my headlamp, I felt something incredible. It wasn’t my legs, because I couldn’t really feel them. It was pride. Here I was, second youngest person attempting this race, and I made it to Elkford, CA. As I hit my SPOT GPS, sending a message to my family and friends saying “I’m safe!”, I could reflect on what I had done.
Then I woke up. Huh, that was weird. Didn’t I just lay down? Apparently, sleep had come shockingly easy that night.
I ambled over to the local diner and ordered a huge breakfast of pancakes. I didn’t care about making it out of town right at 7 AM. I cared about pancakes. Pancakes take care of me.
I watched a bit of news while waiting for my order. Fires in the South, New Mexico and Texas ablaze. The fires were close to my home town. I said a prayer, scarfed down a stack of pancakes (Made a few of the big local loggers and miners gawk at my pancake-gobbling ability) and headed out. A big climb and then back into the mountains.
I felt fantastic. I didn’t feel like I rode 115 miles the previous day at all. I think that the weariness of the road/trail can be overshadowed by the shear sense of adventure that one obtains from starting a new path. And that’s really true with anything, at least in my life it tends to be. No matter how run down I can get, the prospect of blindly pushing through a new path always excites me. As I cruised quickly down old mining roads and over bridges onto places I have never seen, I lost any sense of forboding I had in Banff.
“I’ve met people that have ran 100 mile marathons and done Tour Divide in under 20 days. This is the biggest thing I have ever done. I can’t wait to start. “
The second day I went through at least 4 places to get food. And let me tell you, A&W’s stock price went up that day. And I actually ate at McDonalds for the first time in years. The chicken sandwhich went down easy enough. I made it to Fernie and stopped into a bike shop to pick up some lube and rest a bit. Fernie was a quaint place. It seemed older than the other towns I had gone through that day, but not in a bad way. I spoke with the mechanics on duty and asked about the other riders ahead of me. I learned that the 21 year old had quit the race. It’s official, I’m the youngest. Oh the pressure.
I pedaled my bike. The route today took me through lush forest roads of British Columbia. After following a river for awhile, My route took me up a steep road into a small community. I found a roadside ice cream and burger joint shortly after, close to 6PM, that I’m fairly certain was sent there by the angels. I consumed enough grease and sugar to push my way to where I thought I was going to be camping. But, as my journal notes,
“I planned on camping in a town 11km from the border, but I kept going. I went to the border, but kept going. I was fueled by the inticing allure of a motel room bed.”
So in the dead of the night I made it to the border of Canada and the United States. Took a picture of the sign and everything. I flashed my passport to the nice border patrol agent (Nicest one of the trip, unsurprisingly) and started in the wrong direction to Eureka.
Thankfully, I checked my GPS and saw that I was to head WEST, not SOUTH. Perfectly intuitive.
After navigating back roads, peeing twice, finishing the last bit of trail mix, and getting very cold, I made it. A motel. A glorious bastion of civilization, its neon sign chased the darkness away and stood as a beacon of all that is good in life. I walk into the gas station to reserve a room. The time was 11:49. Store closed at 12. The man at the counter said if I had been a few minutes later, he would have had the doors locked.
So many trail angels to thank for that one.
last paragraph should say few minutes later,
Thank you, man. Like I said, I’m still trying to catch everything myself!
Awesome stuff Nicholas. Thanks so much for posting this, I’m having a great sunday morning with a strong coffee and an adventure story to read.
Thank you, Ross.
Superb adventure captured and kindled. Like RossC, it’s Saturday morning here in Korea and I’m drinking ginseng tea and rolling with your adventure. Thanks for sharing such great experiences!
Thank you, Brian. It was a great time, and I can’t wait to get back out there.