On a surprise at work

I was surprised yesterday by the sight of this in a hallway near my desk:

This is a bike repair station that the City has bought and plans to install somewhere outside next spring. The exact location and when it will be operational have yet to be determined. As a cyclist, I think it is great idea. The first one I saw was in Ponce, Puerto Rico. I love the bright orange colour.

I hadn't heard about the project, so I asked around to find out who was in charge of project. It turned out to be my immediate superior. She is also a cyclist and did the Eastern Townships Challenge with me a few years ago along with her partner. Kudos to her for getting the project through.

As this involves work, please note that the views I express here are mine alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of my employer. However, given that my employer bought the bike repair station, I think I have reason to believe that my employer also thinks that a bike repair station is, at the very least, a good idea. I could be entirely wrong about this. ;-)

On the effects of weather, part 317 of a series

In the process of doing my final scavenging of parts from die Fledermoose, I removed the old inner tubes which had protected her and her paint job from theft, general banging around and the Sun. The degree to which the Sun had faded the paint job can be seen in this picture.

 

The picture also shows part of the crack which put an end to her. I have included a few other shots to show more of the weathering.

 

The new bike was supposed to be ready by today or tomorrow. Unfortunately, the weather forecast is less than favourable for biking! Snow is a possibility every day or night for about a week!

I have tried to jinx the snow by buying a bus pass for November. It would be very annoying if the biking season were to end so soon.

On last rites for Floria die Fleddermoose and other bits and pieces

Nearly three weeks ago, I went to Martin Swiss to order a new frame and have the people there transfer the relevant parts from Floria die Fledermoose, especially the wheels and the brakeshifters. After some discussion, it was decided that the optimum frame available on short notice would be a 2017 Kona Private Jake. When it came time to make a deposit, I was horrified to discover that my Visa card wasn't in my wallet. I had used twice earlier that morning, most recently to pay for breakfast. I tried phoning the restaurant in question, but they hadn't discovered anything. I made the deposit with my debit card and set off to retrace my steps and possibly go to my bank to see about getting a new credit card. I had gone barely a block when I mentally retraced my steps at the restaurant. I had paid for the meal with the credit card, but I had left the tip in coins... Sure enough the credit card was in the coin pocket of my wallet.

On the way to work this Wednesday, I stopped by the bike shop to check on progress. The frame had arrived, so they were waiting for me to bring in die Fledermoose. For various reasons, I couldn't do that until Friday after work. One of the reasons was that I had to scavenge a few more bits off die Fledermoose and put tires back on her. The latter involved a bit of head-scratching as I had to work out what the optimum strategy was for reconciling tires of various sizes, mudguards and racks. I also had to consider that the time I would be best able to do the work would be Thursday night, at which time, a heavy rainstorm would be in progress. This effectively meant, that Leonardo would not be welcome indoors. So, I did the minimum change and put some old "street" calibre tires on die Fledermoose.

On Friday, there were very strong winds out of the South-West, reaching 78 km/h with gusts over 100 km/h. On the way to work, I was crawling along de Maisonneuve, practically in Leonardo's granny gears into the face of the wind. At one point, I was tempted to turn around and see if I could get to Quebec City in a day! However, I didn't have my bike computer with me and if I went back home to get it, I would then have to dig out bike shorts, water bottles, etc. and knowing my luck with winds, I felt the winds would have died down by then. Also, I did have to go to work.

Furthermore, I had to bring die Fledermoose to be cannibalised after work. When I did, I asked if I could see the new frame, mostly to know what colour it was. It is slightly unfortunate that it is mostly black as to my mind, there is far too much black around these days. (Please note that I refer to the aesthetic qualities of the colour black, and in no way refer to race.)

I am now facing the challenge of having to come up with a name for the new bike. I love the bat-moose logo that Margaret designed for die Fledermoose. As the new bike will have parts of die Fledermoose, I am toying with keeping the last name. Conversely, as the arrival with be assembled with bits from a "dead" bike, the name Victor von Frankenmoose comes to mind. Then again, it could be Victor von Fledermoose. Unfortunately, I can't figure out something that incorporates the brand name of the bike. The name "Jake" evokes in me the memory of Aunt Lorna's last standard poodle (a nice, somewhat silly, black dog who could eat blackberries off the bush) and the song Jakey's gin by Great Big Sea. Neither of these two references suggests a fun derivation.

There is an irony in me buying a Kona in Montreal as the company is based in Vancouver, B.C., which is where I bought Leonardo, a bike build by DeVinci, a Quebec company!

On the end of Floria die Fleddermoose

Loose chips!

Yesterday, I took Floria die Fleddermoose in for a minor bit of maintenance. Today, I got a phone call from the bike shop. While working on the bike, they noticed that there was a crack in the frame at the weld of the top tube and the seat tube. They stopped work and recommended extreme caution using the bike. When I got to the bike shop, Steve, the manager, asked if I had a receipt from when I bought the bike. I replied that it had been ten years or so since I bought it, and therefore I didn't have it. Also, I suspect that either La Cordée or DeVinci could plead normal wear and tear, and/or abnormal usage, viz. an XL-sized rider* on a L-sized bike using a long seat post to compensate. As well, I had been hearing creaking noises which I assumed were seat related for well over a year. Recently, I bought a new seat and seat post, both of which I firmly bolted into place. Possibly overly firmly.

Steve and I discussed various options including "new" bikes. One was a second-hand road bike that was a bit too small. The other was a new touring bike, complete with a Brooks saddle. In the latter case, the idea was that I would demote Leonardo to commuting status. I wasn't entirely convinced by either option. Also, many of the dynamic components of die Fleddermoose are very new, viz the wheels, brake shifters, tires, etc. I enquired if they could get me a new frame and conduct a parts transplant. However, it seems that these days, road bike frames are only equipped for disc brakes. After some discussion, I decided that the best short term option was to take die Fleddermoose home and use some of her parts to make Leonardo more commuter friendly for the time being.

It was a sunny day, so I set up the bike stand on the sidewalk in front of my condo. I removed the thumb bell, the wheels, the tires, the mudguards, forward reflector and the rear rack (complete with milk crate) from die Fleddermoose. I took off the tires and rear rack from Leonardo and installed the narrower tires, mudguard, rear rack, thumb bell and forward reflector from die Fleddermoose. This involved a certain amount of swearing and frustration.

 Loose chips.

In the midst of this, a guy from across the street came over and asked if I would be interested in doing a bike repair job for him. I refrained from insulting him. I did inform him that I was quite frankly an amateur, only fit for minor bits of maintenance. I recommended that if he had a serious need, that he patronise one of the local bike shops. He did not take offence at this, and offered to sell me an really old bike frame, dirt cheap. Given my situation, I said that I was interested. So he produced the frame. It was a small, rusted, ladies' bike frame. I took one look at it, and said "No, thank you." We chatted for a bit. He had the idea that he might put components on the frame to turn it into what he described as a "Frankenstein" bike. I have heard such an idea before, notably from my sister. In all honesty, I didn't get a very practical vibe from the guy, so I gently suggested that the frame was beyond re-use and that recycling was the realistic option.**

So, Leonardo is now set up for commuting. In theory, I could go forward with only one bike, and swap bits out for when I go touring. However, Leonardo feels a bit too long for city biking.

Then again, I can easily invest in a commuting bike. One thought is to go for a folding bike so I could take it on the Metro during rush hour. The more attractive idea is get a new frame and transplant the parts. Yet another idea is to do both. This plays into the "X+1" ideal number of bikes. I don't have to deal with "Y-1".

In writing this post, I double-checked when I had acquired Floria die Fleddermoose. This was done thanks to this blog post. It was a shade less than 10 years ago that I bought her. November 2009 to be precise. She served fewer years than the Castafiore. The shorter lifespan can probably be attributed to her aluminium construction.

* I make no apologies for being an XL-sized rider. That is due to my height (6'2") which is due to genetics. I also have the endorsement of Margo, which I quote: "Large nephews make good windbreaks."

** I later saw the frame put out for rubbish.

On a coincidence of airport names

In a conversation with the Paternal Unit, I realized that I will shortly be flying out of Diefenbaker (or YXE) to Pearson (or YYZ) where I will change planes to get to Trudeau (YUL). This sequence follows the sequence of tenure in office of the PMs in question. It also intrigues as, if I am not mistaken, includes all the airports named for Canadian PMs except for Ottawa’s MacDonald-Cartier which is “only” half-named for a PM.

Addendum:

When I got to Pearson, I checked the departure board to see which gate my flight to Trudeau was, I discovered it was the same gate I had just exited. So technically, I didn't change planes: I just changed flights and seats. The plus side of this was that my checked luggage stayed with me.

On irony at Diefenbaker airport

John Diefenbaker, 13th Prime Minister of Canada, seems to have understood irony to make a point. Indeed, he employed it to advance his political agenda which included extending suffrage to Aboriginal Canadians. A case in point would be his appointment of the first Aboriginal senator at a time when the man couldn’t vote.

Here at the Saskatoon Diefenbaker International Airport, they are keeping his memory alive by selling models of the Avro Arrow (an aircraft he notoriously killed) at the gift shop! The cashier said it was among their best sellers!

On BYXE-ing

For those readers not in the know, YXE is the airport code for the Saskatoon Diefenbaker International Airport, Canada’s only airport named for a dog on a TV show. ;-) The City of Saskatoon has adopted the airport code and variants there on to attract people downtown. One variation is “BYXE” for bike related activities, especially the bike paths along the South Saskatchewan River which flows North to the mild confusion of tourists.

I used them yesterday morning to get to the Wanuskewin Heritage Park. The site was used for at least five thousand years by various aboriginal groups as a meeting site and hunting ground. It is formed by a small valley on the edge of the South Saskatchewan River. It seems that pretty much everywhere you dig, you quickly find artifacts. It is in the running to become Saskatchewan’s first UNESCO World Heritage site so people are currently busy expanding the Interpretive Centre, adding a bison paddock and generally sprucing the place up. Unfortunately, this means that much of site is off-limits! What you could see was modest but when explained by an archaeologist only led to more questions, at least from me.

 After lunch and using the bike map provided by the City which very intelligently had bike safety instructions on the backside, I made my way back downtown. I put the bike back in my room, then set out for the YXE Beer Wars.

The latter is in essence a festival of beer and other alcohol made by “local” craft persons. “Local” includes places at least as far away as Fernie, B.C.. I sampled beers, ciders, mead, wine made from cherries, gin and a pre-made old-fashion. The last was mediocre and produced by a distillery/brewery whose flyer, when read with a discerning eye, discourages consumption of their products. They give craft distillers a bad name. While I was only sampling, it added up even though I stopped halfway to have a very good grilled chicken and cheese sandwich from a food truck. I repaired to my room for a snooze before heading down to the pub in the hotel for a salad.

Today, I went to the Farmers’ market. I returned to the hotel with a bottle mead. I locked the bike to a handy bike rack and walked up to my room to drop off my purchase and get another lens for my sunglasses. As I came out, the manager followed me to warn me about leaving my bike outside for prolonged periods because of bike thieves. He informed me I could keep the bike in my room (which I had been doing). I explained that I appreciated his concern, but as I had only gone up to my room for a few minutes, I didn’t think it worth the bother. Besides, it was a sunny, Saturday morning on a busy street with a street fair happening nearby.

I then biked off to the Saskatoon branch of the Western Development Museum. (I had visited another branch when I was in Moose Jaw.) This one concentrated of the experience of settlers in the early Twentieth Century.

Returning downtown, I stopped at the Ukrainian Day in the Park for a lunch of pierogies and meatballs. There was t-shirt for sale which read “Garlic: Ukrainian Viagra”. There were also plenty of people dressed in Ukrainian grab as might be expected. Had Mummy been in Canada, I would have asked what she needed in way of Easter egg dyes and equipment.

I returned to the hotel where I was unexpectedly informed via text message that I had won a batch of merchandise from the YXE Beer Wars. I walked back to the site to pick up several garments, most of which are unlikely to fit me!

I then set off in search of duct tape. This involved going to a Canadian Tire 4 kilometres away along a bike route which took me through working-class areas or at least so they seemed by their cyclists.

I removed most of the accessories from the bike in order make the final packing a faster process. My flight leaves mid-afternoon. It has been a good vacation.

On getting to Saskatoon

Well, I’ve made it to Saskatoon. 1200 odd kms, and God knows how many squashed insects after leaving Jasper, I am horizontal on my bed in the hotel recommended by Margo and Chris, with three beers and a mead in me.

The day started sunny with a useful wind which backed to the less useful. It took me about four hours of biking to make Delisle. Along the way were two road kill coyotes, one mule deer and a fair number of skunks. While the highway, like much of the way from Drumheller was near a secondary CN line, the only moving traffic was two railway maintenance vehicles and a hi-rail truck (a.k.a. a truck that can also go along the tracks). The line is evidently in use given the significant number of hopper cars waiting at grain and pulse elevators or terminals. I am theatrically miffed at CN for not running a freight train when I could see it, especially given the effing number of freights that the Canadian had to wait for on the main line.

I went into Subways in Delisle for lunch. When I came out, the clouds that had been on the horizon, had caught up with me along with a favourable wind at long last. I fairly flew the remaining distance to Saskatoon. Coming into Saskatoon, I crossed over the CN main line at a spot from where I could nearly see the Via Rail station. I took 11th Street S to the River, then went North as it began to rain. I made the Hotel Senator before the rain hit in earnest.

 So I am here, tired but satisfied.

On winds and trucks

The wind gods must hate me. Of the last four days of biking, all had winds that partially went against me. Today, however went well beyond the norm with a strong wind (20+ km/h) out the South East that was a royal pain given I was going mostly due East. It was a psychological effort to keep going at the low speed imposed by the wind. Typical speeds were below 15 km/h.

Thankfully, Rosetown was only 83 klicks, but the math implicit was scary, especially as my legs were protesting the effort to maintain even the slow pace. The mind wandered into scenarios of when I would start to beg for a lift. I even took a picture of an old truck which served as an ad for Rosetown towing with the phone number written on the side in large friendly letters, just in case. I was also worried about how low my water supply was getting.

There was a number of very wide loads on the road. For several of them, I took the better part of valour and the grass shoulder. Give truckers the space and the chance. At least a couple of the ones going the other way moved to the hard shoulder in order to give trucks passing me more space. 

Eventually the road veered a touch to the North, reducing the effect of the wind to merely a cross wind, which combined with the occasional presence of a railway embankment which gave a degree of cover from the wind. I felt I was flying for a bit. I made Rosetown earlier than I expected, or at least, earlier than I feared.

Tomorrow, I should make Saskatoon.

On a sobering news item

I can’t do embedded links on the iPhone, but following story is a bit too close for comfort.  I was on Highway 9 until Saskatchewan. As well, I think I might have seen debris from the earlier accident mentioned.

On curiosity in Kindersley

My helmet mounted mirror has been attracting curiosity. Before getting to my hotel in Kindersley, I stopped at a convenience store to buy some milk and OJ. Coming out, a guy in mechanics' overalls with ear plugs around his neck stopped me to ask how effective it was. (He’d formerly been a bike courier.) The answer being only somewhat. It doesn’t beat the ear and it has blind spots. It is more useful for the longer distances. However, I think it works better than the bar mirror did, though it does require frequent adjustments.

Today, a clerk at a pharmacy asked me what it was!

There is not a whole lot to Kindersley despite its size. Much of the activity seems based on Highway 7 and its associated support activities for transportation, farming and oil and gas. There are four trucks in my hotel parking lot from one fracking company. In the last three places I have stayed in, there have been signs of one type or another designed to manage people coming in with very muddy or grubby clothes and boots after a day out in the field. In contrast, I was the first person to ever ask the desk clerk at my current place if I might be allowed to my bike into my room. I am beginning to think I might just be off the beaten path of cycle-tourists. 😉

On agricultural education, thoughts

Yesterday was in some ways more of the same. Light, but frustrating headwinds and wide open sunny skies. I did a "doh!" at one point in this trip when I suddenly realised the significance of the name of the first town I came to in Saskatchewan. The town's name is Alsask, which I first thought might be derived from a First Nations' word. Then I worked out that it was in fact "AL[berta]SASK[atchewan]". The fact that it is also a few easy typos away from Alaska might have misled me.

I saw what I thought was a large drone helicopter in the distance. I say I thought it was a drone as it seemed small and to be maneuvering very actively at very low altitude. As I got closer, I was surprised to see it was in fact a full sized crop-dusting helicopter.

I have been seeing any number of slightly arcane signs written on the road for and by the construction crews. Some of them are evidently for the placement of construction related signs and persons. The person doing some of them, evidently got carried away as he or she wrote "FLAGGGG" at one point, painted the figure of a flagperson at another, complete with a cooler for lunch and after marking a speed camera warning, then wrote "Say Cheese!" ;-)

At one point I spotted a pair of mule deer in a small valley beside the road. They weren't terribly keen to see me, so they wandered off. I was, however, a Parks Canada recommended distance away. It was an interesting distraction.

Another distraction was trying to figure out what was growing in the fields. I stopped a few time to examine the crops more closely. I wonder what the market would be for an agricultural museum which would explain to non-farmers what the various crops (and livestock) are, what they are used for, etc. Possibly combined with a demonstration farm. As well, some explanation of what all the assorted farm machinery that you see actually does might be quite interesting. It would also be more interesting that than typical "warehouses" of old knickknacks, odds and ends, and surplus farm machinery that pass for museums in these parts.

I also had a vision of a TV show called "Crops". Each episode would look at a different crop (wheat, barley, canola, lentils, soy beans, etc.) and would explain how it grows, the varieties, the harvesting techniques, the uses, the history, the markets, etc. An ending segment would feature the week's crop being prepared for human consumption.

After coming over a rise, I saw what I thought was an old style grain elevator, covered in sheet metal in the distance. It was only after a few kilometres that I realised that it was in fact an optical illusion caused by telephone poles in the distance.

A few hours later, I saw a large white object on the horizon, again at the top of a rise. The sight of it, along with some other objects, made me believe that Kindersley, my destination for the day, was in sight. This brought both relief and frustration as it was still 30 odd kilometres away! I made it, but there was more frustration in store as there were what seemed like several kilometres of industrial equipment sales lots to pass before you got into Kindersley proper! (The large white object was the water tower.)

Today is a rest day. After that, it will be two more days of biking before I get to Saskatoon.

The application of antihistamines and Dristan nose spray has reduced the sneezing. However, my nose is sore from the combination of sneezing, blowing, sunburn and windburn. The precise cause of the sneezing eludes me.

On sneezing my way the edge of Alberta

Over a decade ago, I put a “no farting” sticker on Chris’ bike. Today, I wonder if someone should put a “no-sneezing” sticker on mine. I have been sneezing all day despite taking an antihistamine at breakfast this morning.

Over breakfast, I chatted with a motorcycle tourist of the “backroads adventure” type travelling on a Honda Africa Twin which is derived from motorcycles used in Paris-Dakar rallies. He was from Vancouver and was enthused by my Ortlieb bags which he used for commuting and cycle touring in his younger days. He was about 70 and described himself as undergoing treatment for prostate cancer which robs him of testosterone and therefore energy.

The forecast had been for gentle winds out of the Northwest. This would have been a boost as Highway 9 went roughly East-South-East. Unfortunately, for much of the day, the winds were out of the Northeast, thus posing a thankfully only mild hindrance. The road was rather flat. There was a 60 km section under repair. I braced myself for loose chips. Thankfully, it consisted of twenty plus km of beautifully smooth, recently repaved road without rumble strips, about three km of road where they had ripped off the old surface, ten kilometres of road where they had repaved the other side and the rest prepped for more work. It being a Sunday, there was no work in progress. As I crossed the construction zone, I noticed port-a-potties standing by the side of the road every few kilometres. I eventually deduced that they were where for the use of the road crews.

In Youngstown, I stopped at a gas station cum convenience store. It had bulletin board ads for things such as “two year-old virgin Angus bulls” and a small aircraft with only 67 flight hours on it! Rather different from what you get on the board outside LeBaron’s!

I stopped for the night at a motel just outside of Oyen. At the gas station next door, there is a caterpillar crane being transported on a trailer with 40 tires in 5 rows of 8 being pulled by a tractor truck with 14 tires on 4 axles! I cross into Saskatchewan tomorrow. With any luck, the sneezing will have stopped by then.

On Google maps and gravel roads

Owing to an unexpected phone call from Alice, I left the Taste of the Past and its’ marvellous bathtub a bit after 9 and rolled down the valley of the Red River. It was sunny and cool. I stopped to inspect hoodoos, before arriving at the Atlas Coal Mine historic site. It offered four tours but none of them suit my schedule or temperament (two involved either confined spaces or going way up the rickety looking tipple). So I opted for the general, wander around by yourself, admission. The mine had been open as recently as 1984, so some of the machinery was still in good condition. One thing I found weird was that they shipped coal by box car, rather than hopper or gondola car.

I retraced my route to near the hoodoos. From there, I started on a route that was designed to get me to Highway 9, without going back to Drumheller by taking secondary highways and lesser roads. Google maps suggested it. However, Google maps didn’t factor in the gravel. The surface was quite loose for much of the way. Like many such roads, there was always another part that looked easier. After realizing that I hadn’t seen another vehicle for awhile, I even used the far side of the road.

The high point was seeing a pair of coyotes cross the road ahead of me. The landscape was gently rolling hills full of grazing cattle. Some bits of the road were range land, so there were Texas gates, a.k.a. cattle grids, across the road. At some point I lost track of whether I was in or out of a stock area. About two thirds of the way to Highway 9, my route went from secondary highways to a “range road”. It proved to have a less gravelly surface on average. However, I was quite relieved to get on Highway 9 and get blown along to Hanna and my motel which had no vehicles in the parking lot. When I came back from supper, there were three vehicles, all with out of province plates.

Tomorrow promises to be easier as I will be almost entirely on Highway 9 and there should be a West wind in my favour. Note to self: avoid dirt roads in Alberta. Loose chips, but I am tired!

On the Royal Tyrell

I rode out to the Royal Tyrell Museum through intermittent rain this morning. After attending to some business, I spent the next several hours enraptured by the diversity of fossils on display as well as the excellence of the presentation. No wonder the town of Triton enlisted the Royal Tyrell to mount their sperm whale! I began to wonder if they needed a librarian! After going through the galleries, I went back to re-inspect a 21 meter long marine reptile. That size puts it in the sperm whale size league. I then watched a couple of documentaries about the Tyrell, both of which discussed what amounts to the librarianship of the Museum. So there is a librarian position there.

On the downside, the museum is relatively crowded with families with small children. After the relative quiet of the road, I found it a bit trying.

Leaving the Museum, I discovered from a newspaper headline that the movie being shot in Drumheller is Ghostbusters 2020! Or at least that is the tentative title. IMDB lists Dan Ackroyd and Sigourney Weaver in their roles from 1984 version, and Bill Murray as rumoured.

Outside, there was a short walk to explore and explain the Badlands. It seems that no matter the language or culture (including First Nations) the term for the place translates as “Bad Land”!

My original plan had been to visit the Atlas Coal Mine. However, when I realized it was about 30 km downwind, I used it to finally make a decision about where I will sleep tomorrow. I have been dithering about where I should aim for next. Towns on Highway 9 (and 7) are relatively few, especially with regards to ones with motels. They are spaced out at inconvenient intervals making for either shortish days or overly long ones. Before leaving Montreal, I made a list of the “useful” ones and the distances between them. I was faced with two options tomorrow: Hanna at 80 km and Youngstown at 130. I chose Hanna so I can do the coal mine as well. This also means that barring a serious tailwind, the day after will be a decent distance as well.

I can only gush about my hosts at the Taste the Past B&B. They are super nice and helpful. They even allowed me to do a load of laundry in their machine. This was very appreciated. Then again, our last names share an origin!

 In other odd observations about Alberta, I walked into one of its’ privately owned liquor stores which had “discount” in the name. A 750 ml bottle of Newfoundland Screech was $33.95 plus GST. At the “inefficient” drain-on-the-public-purse SAQ, the same is $26.50 including GST! Maybe there are additional transport fees! Either that or maybe this is an expression of Albertan prejudice towards Newfoundlanders! ;-)

On loose chips

For various reasons, I left the Hostel relatively late. Consequently, I opted for Plan B for getting out of Calgary, namely taking the C-Train to Saddletowne. From there, I managed to leave City quickly though not without some creative interpretations of road usage and a bit of off-roading required by a road closure and a unidirectional interchange. This put me on Highway 564 which had very little in the way of a shoulder but was going due East which was the way I wanted to go and meant I had a tailwind.

I came to Highway 9 which is what I really wanted and which will likely feature in this blog until Saskatchewan when it will become Highway 7. It took me North and East with a hard shoulder that was almost a lane wide. Rather regrettably, there was a looong section having a new seal coat added. I gather this means spreading tar and then gravel of about one centimetre size. Unfortunately, the process did not include the shoulders so there were a lot of what was termed “loose chips”, i.e. loose gravel. It was very annoying to the point that I was considering making “loose chips” a personal swearword as it was biting into the high sustained speed I was otherwise making through the fields of Alberta.

The fields seemed to go on forever beneath the big sky. As I child, I once had a vivid mental image conveying the idea of an infinitely large planet being a car driving across flat farm land that would never end. The image had a 1950s feel, the car being a station waggon with a family with 2.5 kids in it.

At one point, a flatbed truck went by with a pair of police cars on it marked Summerville Sheriff’s Department. Hmm, I thought, I guess those are the new cars being delivered. Then it struck me that I didn’t think that Alberta had such Sheriff’s Departments and that I couldn’t place Summerville in Alberta and it didn’t seem like an Alberta-type place name.

Nearing Drumheller, I was pleasantly surprised when the road curved to avoid Horseshoe Canyon. For one thing there was a place to buy a nice, cold drink. More importantly, the Canyon dramatically appeared out of nowhere. It was simply a gap in the Earth. It is what I think of a Badlands type-canyon, i.e. gently eroded from seemingly muddy type rocks. I chatted with a mother who expressed a desire to one day go on a bike tour. She couched it in terms of "but not until her kids were older", which was sensible enough.

I don’t think I knew how big Drumheller was. As I came into town, the signs made me realise my mental image was off. First there was the penitentiary. Then a Canadian Tire, and finally a Walmart. I turned onto the street leading to downtown only to see a barrier and very strange vehicle making its way toward me. A closer look showed it to be a large black pickup with a camera mounted at the end of a large crane. At the barricade, I was approached by a young lady who explained the downtown was being used as a film set. I asked if the film was set in “Summerville” perchance? It was. Summerville, Oklahoma in fact. My B&B hosts told me it was the fourth film shoot this year.

On more about Calgary

I neglected few of incidents from yesterday. The first was that along the T-Can, I came across a bike helmet beside the road. The condition of the strap suggested that someone had clipped it to their bike on the back of a car and the strap had slipped. There was something eerie about it sitting there, so I brought it along. At the hostel, I decommissioned it by jumping on it, before tossing it. There was little chance it was still safe.

When I was approaching the Hostel, I spotted an odd looking airplane on approach to Calgary Airport. I looked again and confirmed my first impression: it was a bright red DC-3. While I have seen them on flight line, it was first time that I have seen one in the air. It was humbling to see a plane that was quite possibly older than my parents in the air.

The HI Calgary Hostel has gone through some changes since I was last there seven years ago. Breakfast is better than bananas and DIY pancakes that used to be on offer. Unfortunately, there is no longer a gopher colony out back. The area is being redeveloped and doubtless will attract the gentry. This has not prevented the homeless from frequenting the area, partially encouraged by a bunch of bible thumping, Devil-serving evangelicals who hand out food after sermonizing in the evenings.

On making Calgary in time for lunch

I made Calgary City limits at 1:05 PM. Having left S and T’s house in Canmore, in 3 hours and 49 minutes of biking, I covered 92.69 kilometres, for an average of 24.3 km/h with a maximum of 65.8 and long periods of sustained speeds in mid thirties. None too shabby even if I say so myself. I had lunch at a second rate donair place. I had been joking about getting to Calgary by lunchtime, but I was surprised I managed it! Mind you, I did have a slight tailwind.

Following S and T’s advice, I had followed the 1A to the 1X at Seebee. This was quiet secondary highway, if that word can be applied to a road that passes a heliport and has a certain amount of heavy truck traffic! It did have a very good shoulder. The nearest thing to a hiccough was when I was nearing a plant entrance and a truck behind me was behaving as if it was planning to to enter. In my opinion, our speed vectors would have conflicted, so I signalled I was stopping and stopped well before to let him go ahead. He indeed turned in.

Just after crossing the Bow River at Seebee, I took a gravel road short cut as recommended by S and T. They have a good knowledge of the local bike routes from personal experience and from hosting many Warmshowers guests.

This brought me to Alberta Highway 1, a.k.a. the Trans-Canada Highway. This took me to Calgary in bright sunshine, chased by small rain showers.

From the donair place, I followed a semi-coherent network of bike paths along the Bow River. This involved stopping to check Google Maps on the iPhone every so often. Consequently, it was well after 3 when I arrived at the Hostel in the East Village area.

Good day, today. Final stats: time: 5.12.29, distance: 117.25, avg 22.5, max 65.8.0.

Oh. The plate tally is 7 provinces, and the NWT with a probable on the Yukon. 28 states with 3 probables. Switzerland plus another unidentified European Union other than the UK (the rear plate was white).

I wrote the bulk of this having supper in a place on Stephen Avenue which is semi-pedestrianised. As I walked out of the bar, I may have walked into the frame of a commercial for Co-Op grocery stores that was being filmed. A flunky came up to me and asked me to sign a waiver, in case I appeared in the shot!

On what I did in Canmore

S and T have known Margo and Chris for many years and resemble them in various ways. I thought the match particularly acute when I saw a Devinci Caribou of the same vintage as Margo and Chris’ first touring bikes in their garage. Then it emerged that the bike in question was in fact Chris’ old bike complete with the “no farting” sticker I had put on it in Spain! ;-) It was odd to see it again. Equally strange was to note that it didn’t have the provision for disc brakes that my bike has.

Despite suggestions from S and T to hike up one of the nearby peaks, complete with the loan of bear spray, I opted for a day of relaxation. I have done laundry, updated the blog, seen the Warmshowers guest off on her trek and done a few things on the ‘Net including some route finding. I had lunch at the Grizzly Paw Brew Pub. Leonardo now has a clean chain and fully inflated tires.

I found, bought and mailed off a wee present for Edward. I visited the local museum which was mostly about coal mining in the area but also had a fun section on the reintroduction of bison to Banff. At the museum, I had my first taste of Virtual Reality which didn’t agree with my stomach. And I watched some of Canmore’s feral bunny population keep the grass short.

In short, I took it easy.

Calgary tomorrow.

On a tough day followed by a good day

Sunday started well with reasonable grades and other cyclists on the road. When I stopped to pick up a Velcro strap someone had lost by the side of the road, one of them also stopped thinking that there might be interesting wildlife to see. I chatted with her as we started to roll again. She was part of a van supported ride. A little further on at a picnic stop, the van support had set up a buffet of biker fuel for the participants. I managed to mooch a banana from them.

The clouds were low, hiding the peaks. This did little to improve my morale.

A few kms later, I noticed my front tire was low on pressure. I stopped to re-inflate both tires. Not long afterwards, the front tire was again soft. At this point, there was two lanes going South, which meant there was only limited shoulder on my side. Consequently, I crossed the road where there was more space. I removed the front tire to give it a careful examination. This revealed a piece of wire in the sidewall. Once I removed it, I put in a new inner tube which refused to inflate. I worried that my pump was at fault as the seal has seen better days. I removed the inner tube which proved to be defective! I was installing the second spare when a man from Pennsylvania stopped his car to check if I was okay. I said I was though I was actually rather frustrated.

I got underway. As I neared the Bow Summit at more than 2000 m, a hard, cold rain began. I turned off at the Peyto Lake site in the hope of finding some shelter. I think I saw some of the rain fall as ice pellets. There was little shelter to be had, so I pushed on down the road. There was a resort with a café at Bow Lake where I got coffee and waited for the rain to stop.

When it did, I went out and chatted with a couple from New York on a tandem with one saddle bag. Because of that and because she was smoking, I assumed they were on a supported tour. It turned out, they had left the bulk of their gear back at a campsite. He complained about how crowded Banff had been. I pointed out that Banff is the Canadian equivalent of Yellowstone National Park except that Calgary and its airport are quite close. (I later realised that the Trans-Canada Highway goes through Banff as well.) He accepted my observation as being valid.

I was tired and drained. Also, my bum was aching. While the road was downhill, it was getting busier. There was significant slowdown at a point where a Parks Canada truck was pulled over with flashing red light. A young woman in a Parks Canada uniform and a high visibility vest was standing guard over a black bear feeding on flowers next to the road. She had what looked like a paintball gun in her hand. Thankfully, she and the bear were on the other side of the road!

The Icefields Parkway ended by joining the Trans-Canada. The T-Can came as a shock after the relative calm of the Icefields Parkway. Thankfully, it was only two km to Lake Louise and my hostel.

I checked into the large hostel and enquired as to the whereabouts of the nearest bike shop as I was down to a patch kit for reserve inner tubes. The bike shop proved to be very close.

Thankfully.

My brain was moving very slowly and it took effort to decide which bit of getting my clobber to my room should happen first. When I noticed this slack thought process, I diagnosed it as low sugar levels and made for vending machines selling Snickers bars and apple juice.

After dumping most of my clobber in my room, I set off in search of replacement inner tubes. The suggested store proved easy to find. In addition, they indeed had the right size and type of inner tubes. Near the store, there was a Parks Canada booth where I asked for the recommended bike route to Banff and Canmore. This proved to be the fairly obvious route, with the exception of the junction of the Bow Valley Parkway and the Legacy Trail.

I returned to the hostel to shower. I wanted to follow this with a pre-prandial snooze, but alas, two other people arrived in my dorm just after I closed my eyes. That was a tough day, physically and mentally.

Monday was much better. For one thing, there were no high passes to cross! As I left Lake Louise, I fell in with a cheerful bunch of cyclists from Oregon heading my way. Some of them were headed to Missoula, Montana. I correctly deduced their membership in the Adventure Cycling Association which has its headquarters there. They talked me into visiting Johnston Canyon which was along the way.

On one sign someone had translated Johnston Canyon as Cañon Johnston which is the Spanish not the French translation. (I later pointed this out to a Parks Canada employee.) Johnston Canyon made for a scenic though crowded interlude.

I got to Banff in time for a late lunch. I then took the bike on a bus up to the Upper Hot Springs where I thoroughly enjoyed soaking in the hot water. Then it was time for a “whee” back down to Banff and off to Canmore where I found Margo’s friends S and T and a Warmshowers guest of theirs who was about to set off bikepacking along the Great Divide.

This morning I found out that the campground where I had seen the “closure on account of wolf” sign had been a wolf attack on Friday. It was the Rampart Creek Campground. Rather sobering. Actually, S and T were a little shocked that I had been travelling along the Icefields Parkway without bear spray.

On my current status

Current status: tired, sore and in Lake Louise.

On license plate spotting

This entry published a day after it was written.

It was an SUV that started it. It had a Texas license plate. It reminded me of a game we played during the California sabbatical in 1985, namely license plate spotting. Over the course of several months we got all fifty states plus Washington, D.C.. Then in Yellowstone National Park we started again and got into the thirties in one day if memory serves.

It is both easier and harder on a bike as more vehicles pass you but harder to read them, especially some of the “picture” plates. Also, some cheaters have license plate holders which hide the name of the state. Still, I have a high observation skill despite second rate vision, especially through sweaty sunglasses.

My tally for the first day was the six big provinces, plus a possible on the Yukon, and about half the states, including probables. I found the distribution interesting as most of the Western mountain states were present as well as Alaska, but not Wyoming. There were “Nothern tier Midwestern” states, and several from Florida but relatively few Southern or Atlantic states.

There was also an Audi with what looked like a white rear European plate but I couldn’t verify the country. I did verify a Swiss plate on a camper. At a lookout, I spoke with the owners who were from the German-speaking part of Switzerland. I have also worked out that vehicles coming up in my rear view mirror without lights on area likely to be American and therefore worthy of more attention.

The scenery was naturally beautiful. On the left there was a range of mountains which were in essence a single sheet of sedimentary rock angled up at about 45 degrees. The slope on “my” side was fairly consistent but anything but on the other. I later learnt this was the Endless Range.

For dumb reasons, I missed the Athabasca Falls. I made up for it by taking in the Sunwapta Falls, which had similarities with Maligne Canyon in being what I think of as a “slot” canyon, i.e. very much deeper than wide. (I was able to confirm Utah in the parking lot.)

The Icefields Parkway has a no commercial trucks policy. I was therefore a bit surprised when a pickup truck pulling the rotating thing at the front of a combine behind it. Then again it wasn’t a commercial truck per se.

 I think the Icefields Parkway should ban motorcycles which produce more than necessary noise. No need for wankers on Harleys.

I arrived a bit early at the Beauty Creek Hostel but the only employee on site was prepared to check me in and give me the lowdown on the facilities or lack thereof. No electricity, running water, showers... but plenty of the patina of hostel ageing. When I lay down on my bunk, I discovered that someone had secured a tourist map of New Zealand to the bottom of the bunk above! It also a bunch of license plates attached to the roof of the porch of the Cook House which confirmed my sightings of two states.

For quite some time, I was the only guest despite the place being booked solid. I boiled water to add to some freeze dried Saigon-style noodles and bits which I think have been on a few too many of my trips as backup food in case I wind up in a motel without food being near, such as the Midway Motel in Newfoundland. Its' use was planned in this instance. It was tasty and filling.

Then a party of eleven hydrophobic Italians arrived. I say hydrophobic as they seemed overly troubled by a sprinkle of rain. They rather dominated the cook house making some unknown dish involving pasta of some description, canned peas and ham. Possibly more, but I was only too glad to get out of their way, especially as my supper had been what it had been. Also one of them had commented favourably on me sipping what I think she took to be something sophisticated from a wineglass. It was, in fact, Newfoundland Screech.

My research had indicated a considerable climb to the Icefields Discovery Centre, as in 440 m in the last 10 km of the 17 or so between Beauty Creek and it. It was a panting climb with many stops along the way. I climbed into the clouds and stopped at a strange structure that loomed out of the mist to attach to my helmet and turn on a red blinky. This proved to be part of the Glacier Skywalk. Naturally, the road then plunged out of the cloud in a “wheeing” 60+ km/h descent. (I forgot to turn off the blinky light but it is USB rechargeable.) I was annoyed by a headwind which I later worked out to be a katabaric wind blowing down from the Columbia Icefield.

I made the Icefield Centre in due time to catch my reservation to do a glacier tour via Snocoach and a 33 percent grade. It was what it was. I kept on wondering what the Paternal Unit with his PhD in glacial geology would make of the experience. He would not have been impressed with the driver of the bus back to the Skywalk who talked about how a recent landslide had revealed fossil “troglodytes”.

(Sic)

I am pretty sure she meant trilobites. I shouldn’t have bothered with the Skywalk but it was included in the ticket. Thankfully or possibly not, the mist had burned off and from the Skywalk’s semi-circular, glass floored walkway, you could get marvellous views of the valley floor too many feet below, unless you kept your gaze very much on the surrounding peaks. As I said to a couple of the staff members who later asked how I found it: “It is no place for the acrophobic.”

As I got into the bus back to the Centre, a little boy of Asian extraction excitedly exclaimed “Look! A real cowboy hat!” He was so sweet that I didn’t have the heart to tell him my Tilley hat wasn’t a cowboy hat.

Anyway, back to the Bike and yet another wardrobe change. Up over the height of land between the Arctic and Atlantic (Hudson’s Bay) drainage basins and down with a lot of “whee” through a stunningly beautiful and majestic valley that felt it belonged on the cover of a travel guide or a provincial road map.

It was stunning. Almost to the point wanting to cry.

I was interested to note there was a subtle difference to the geology of the new set of mountains. Or perhaps I had become bored by the mountains on the other side of the pass. Then again, hanging glaciers and permanent ice caps are hard to beat.

I was happy to have disc brakes on the long, fast downhill. No worries about rims overheating.

About an hour later, I was biking along a flattish bit when I spotted a decent sized black bear on the road ahead. I stopped well outside of the Parks Canada recommended 100 m distance. I was pondering the best thing to do next as the bear was stationary, when a tour bus passed me and stopped somewhat closer to the bear. Close enough for the bear to turn around and head into the nearby woods. It lingered a bit, so I decided I would use the bus as cover in order to get past the bear. The bus left before I reached it, but then a series of cars came the other way, forming a barrier between the bear and me.

A few kilometres later, a campsite had a closure notice on account of wolf on it!

The Philippino couple in Jasper had stayed at the Beauty Creek hostel and I think it was outside of their comfort zone. Among other things, it has a firm policy to keep bears from food. This may have been at the heart of their question: “Have you ever been chased by wild animals?” My answer was “Yes. Goldfinches have chased me. Red-winged blackbirds as well.” (I had forgotten the odd Canada goose.) This rather took them aback, expecting some tale of being chased by a bear or something.

While I have worried about theoretical bear encounters, and was concerned when I saw either a wolf or a coyote near Cranbrook when Edward was new, until today, I never had to put anything into practice. And even today, there was little to be afraid of.

Parks Canada has lots of warnings out not disturbing the wildlife. However, in many respects, these are aimed more at the larger mammals. I don’t feel the need to keep 20 m away from a least chipmunk. For one thing, I am not sure I would be able to spot one at that distance. Likewise, what is the Parks Canada approved method for dealing with a whisky jack trying to get at the sandwich you are eating? Also, I pretty sure I am not going to get a $25,000 fine for swatting mosquitoes and black flies. For that matter, if I don’t swat them and they feed on me, does this mean I fed the animals? ;-)

At some point, I think I saw a license plate in the shape of a polar bear which means Nunavut or the NWT. I remember there was bickering over who got to continue issuing them after Nunavut split off from the NWT but I don’t remember what the final decision was. Also, I am not sure I saw it.

I arrived at the Crossing Resort in good time. I was positively thrilled to learn they had a laundry as I had skipped washing my clothes the night before. They also had an ice machine. They didn’t have an Internet connection worthy of the name.

Unfortunately, there is a higher pass tomorrow. This means I have climb up all that “whee” again. Grumble.

On four instances of good luck in Jasper

Www.Tekarracolorlab.com

Remember that URL. If you are ever in need of camera help in Jasper, go to Tekarra Color on Patricia Street.

My camera had been giving me battery overheating warnings the instant I turned it on despite the fact I have just replaced the batteries. I had been thinking on sending the camera, the spare batteries and the charger ahead to Saskatoon along with other unwanted bits. I was ambling along and popped into Tekarra Color camera shop to see if someone there could fix the issue. I pointed out a little corrosion on one of the connections as being a possible cause of the problem. The gentleman behind the counter was so sure, but instead cleaned the connections with a swab anointed in a cleaning solution. After replacing the batteries, the camera seemed to work normally.

Today, I biked up to Maligne Canyon partly by mountain bike trails. Maligne Canyon in some senses is the opposite of the Grand Canyon being very much smaller but all the more remarkable as at some points it is something like 60 meters deep but only 2 meters wide. I could jump it! The camera got a good work out.

I biked back along more mountain bike trails and the Fairmount Jasper Park Lodge. The latter has the initials JPL and may explain why I overheard a woman yesterday talk about having worked at JPL which meant to me at the time “Jet Propulsion Laboratory,” a part of NASA.

At a section of single track trail, I met an Englishwoman going the other way, having just come up a rise. She stopped and from he glances backwards she was waiting for somebody to catch up. I didn’t want to meet the person in mid-hill, so I pulled off to wait. Thankfully, I did as the Englishwoman commented that someone had lost a shoe. I turned around to see one of my sandals on the trail, despite having firmly put a cord through it. I thanked her profusely which with she said was nothing. I replied that I’d once had a nervous break-down triggered by losing a pair of sandals. (In Eastend, Saskatchewan to precise.)

I went downtown to investigate various ways to spend my afternoon. I stopped into Tekarra Color on Patricia Street to thank the man who had cured my camera. Before I did so, he looked at me and asked if had been in yesterday. I said yes, you fixed my camera and I am here to thank you for it. He reached beside the cash and produced my helmet mounted rear view mirror. It had been in my convertible handlebar bag/fanny pack where my camera had been stored. Evidently, it had fallen out. I noticed its absence from the bag earlier in the day but assumed it was back at the Hostel. I thanked him profusely and promised to say nice things about the place on my blog.

Remember: Www.Tekarracolorlab.com, Tekarra Color on Patricia Street in Jasper.

I returned to the Hostel to sort out bits to send to Saskatoon and shower. A Philippino couple from Los Angeles arrived as I sorted through my clobber. They were interested and moderately amazed by my cycle-touring.

I returned to the downtown area to mail my duffle bag, pedal wrench and the extra clothes I brought for the Train ahead. I bought a sandwich for tomorrow’s lunch and wandered in to an outdoor store in search for a bandanna. They didn’t have one. However, as I was about to leave, I noticed they had Tilley Hats including one in a size and colour for me in order to replace my old one which went AWOL some time ago. I have been relying on a old black U.S. Army pattern BDU cap which has some unfortunate connections and doesn’t cover my ears or the back of my neck. So I now have a proper hat for times when the helmet isn’t needed.

The Icefields Parkway tomorrow.

On Jasper’s new HI Hostel

It was well after 12:20 when I arrived in Jasper. After retrieving the Bike and my duffel, I put on biking shoes and generally got ready to roll. A young man who sounded German made various comments about how he travelled with a bike trailer which wasn’t terribly helpful, or, for that matter, germane. I pointed out that I had behind using this system for more than ten years!

Among the passengers who disembarked was an elderly lady (closing ninety I would guess) who walked slowly with the aid of two hiking poles. I gently teased/flattered her by asking if she was off to climb Mt Robson. I think she was amused.

Once Leonardo was loaded, I headed off to the HI Hostel. However, I stopped almost immediately to take in the sight of a pair of RCMP officers in full red serge going down the street on horseback! While I watched, small children were handed up to the officers to have their picture taken.

It was too early to check in but I was allowed to dump excess gear. I returned to the town core where I raided the tourist information rack for pamphlets and repaired to a brewery to sit and have a sleeve of beer as I got to grips with being off the Train and start to plan the next phase of this trip in detail. This was partly aimed at killing time until I could check in.

I checked in using my HI Hosteling life membership (courtesy of Margo) for the first time. This hostel was so new, they are still working on it, notably the elevator. In turn, this meant that I got an extra 10% off. The place seems very well laid out with wide corridors and staircases. It still smells new. It also is a shade impersonal and cold. However, I suspect that once it is finished and the patina of use is allowed to accumulate along the random posters and bits hostels inevitably acquire it will be very nice. Certainly their bike locker is well thought-out and easy to use. Bike lock-ups are, of course, of capital importance to the making of a first rate hostel.*

I do have a few, very minor, complaints. The first complaint is that I was initially assigned a top bunk. When I came down from the room for my second load of clobber, I asked for and got a lower bunk. The second grumble is that I am at least among the ninety-fifth age percentile among the guests. I feel old here. ;-) Where are the grey-haired hikers?

* At least in my biased opinion ;-)

On the Canadian, still

Yesterday, I casually pondered the possibility of overshooting Saskatoon when I return by bike and stopping at Watrous to visit a nearby salt lake. I would then go back to Saskatoon on the Train which goes through Westbound on Fridays in order to catch my flight back to Montreal.

The Train was supposed to get into Jasper at 6:30. I set my alarm for 6 in order to see where they added the panorama car. My theory was either just behind my car or near the Prestige cars in the rear. I awoke before the alarm whereupon I checked my location on Google maps. The Canadian was only about a third of the way from Edmonton to Jasper. I turned off the alarm, pulled on my trousers and set off aft in search of the panorama car. It wasn’t just behind my car and from the “B” sleeper dome car, it was obviously not between it and the Park car. Forward, I couldn’t see well enough in the fog. Oh, well. “Back to bed, said Fred” to quote a well-loved picture book.

I rose again around 7 and headed to the dining car for continental breakfast. I sat with a young couple from France who said they had been surprised by the new car that had been added during the night that was between their sleeper and the dining car. They had wondered jokingly if they had made a wrong turn. (The mystery of the Panorama car was solved.) They were amazed that the car could have been added to the middle of a train like that. Like many Europeans on the Canadian, they marvel at the size and varied nature of the Canadian landscapes.

The delay allowed me to get brunch. I hoped there might be French toast stuffed with cheesecake, a dish Via used to do on the Jasper day. Alas, it wasn’t on the menu but I did have good chat with an expatriate Canadian from San Diego who got on in Edmonton at about 2:30 in the morning! He is getting off in Jasper too.

On people on the Canadian

So far I have met Germans, Uruguayans, Luxembourgers, Swiss, a Chinese-German dual national and Japanese on this trip. Not to mention Canadians and Americans. These include Jim and Jean from Tallahassee, Florida on their 40th anniversary trip, James the artist on board from Hamilton, and a professor in tourism development from Kamloops who was wearing a rail-trail t-shirt from Otago in New Zealand. It had a clever logo of a bike with smoke coming out of the handlebars as if it were a steam engine.

Winnipeg went by in the dark. I awoke as the train left the Qu’Appelle Valley which was a pity as it is beautiful. There was a herd of bison next to the track at one point.

The train stopped at Melville where we allowed off for a few minutes with admonition not to get too far. “Remember, the next train is only in a few days!”

We have made up some time as we were only a bit more than three hours late leaving Melville. For some of us, this is no bad thing as getting off the Train in Jasper at 6:30 AM was seen as less than desirable! I hope that the stop in Saskatoon will not significantly cut as I want to pop into the station there to snag any useful Saskatchewan tourism brochures available.

At one point, the Canadian was running beside a lesser provincial highway. I used the opportunity to see what the paved shoulder situation was. It looked pretty good though it wasn’t a stretch I would be using. However, it might be representative of Saskatchewan’s highway standards.

Later:
Saskatoon Station is a sad place, a shadow of former times including the remains of old platforms from the days when it was a junction point. I went inside looking for tourism info and found only a rack of Saskatoon pamphlets and two lonely vending machines aside from Via Rail counters and empty concession booths.

On a few days on the Train

August 3
The ride up from Union Station to my cousin’s house was a bit confused by a map that tested my (poor) eyesight and the effects of a Pride parade. I am not sure if was officially “Gay Pride” or whether it was “LGBTQ (and whatever letters have been added) Pride”. It was also hot and humid.

I made my way up to my cousin’s house and let myself in, carefully following her instructions and mentally rehearsing my explanation to the police or security agents if I got it wrong. My cousin and her husband were in Halifax for the weekend but were kind enough to offer me a bed for the night in their absence.

August 4
This morning was cooler. It was an easy downhill ride to Union Station. I had been expecting to have to partially disassemble the bike as that was what Via Rail’s website said. However, the person manning the checked baggage counter said wasn’t necessary as the baggage car on my train had racks for bikes! Had I known this, I wouldn’t have brought a bike bag with me. I then took a step away to take off my bike shoes and organize my luggage into checked and carry-on categories. After checking in the bike and a duffle bag, I went to the Business Lounge to get my meal reservation ticket. There was a fair number of people already there, even though I had arrived with plenty of time to deal with the bike. I was mildly surprised that Via Rail currently serves “Continental breakfast” 6:30-8:30 (no reservations), Brunch 9:30-1:30 (first come, first serve) and Supper (reservations for 5, 7, 9).

My dining car had a special livery about Churchill, Manitoba. Not sure why.

The Canadian left on time. I was interested to note that even an hour out of Union Station, we were still in suburbia. The Greater Toronto Area is fairly large. Then again, the Train leaves Union Station heading Westwards, before turning North before then going East for some distance. It then heads North on the Bala subdivision.

At brunch, I was seated with a pair of grandparents from Uruguay with whom I spoke mostly in French and a man from Moose Jaw. When the waiter asked if I would like a mimosa, I answered with an emphatic “Yes, please!” The Uruguayans were traveling with one of their offspring, the spouse and two grandchildren who were seated at the next table.

The man in the roomette across from me would be described on Amtrak as a “foamer”. On Via, the term employed is “DRF”, for Dedicated (or possibly Demented) Rail Fan. He has an engineer’s cap loaded with Via Rail pins, a Via Rail sweatshirt and a radio scanner to listen into what the train crew is saying. He installed himself in his roomette by putting an Ontario license plate number “VIA RAIL” in the window.. Curiously enough, his roomette was the one I had been assigned, until about a month after booking when I phoned Via Rail to ask if I could have a cabin on the North side of the train. I was intrigued by him at first. This wore off when I heard him pontificate in a dome car. His statements had a Munchausian quality to them, containing grains of truth in lake of chaff. I had the misfortune to sit with him at supper where he proved to be a tiresome dinner companion. His exaggerations were both obvious and boring. Thankfully, there was a nice couple from Michigan as well who were much more interesting.

The weather has been absolutely gorgeous. At Capreol, I got out with many of my fellow passengers to stretch my legs and walk the length of the 21 cars outside. I know there are 21 cars as I counted them. The second locomotive (of two) is no 5459 which became that number after it appeared on the $10 bill with its original number 5403.

After supper, I moseyed back to the Park car where I chatted with the artist on board in the bullet lounge. He was from Hamilton. The DRF came by. A young couple from Washington, DC, asked about what to do in Vancouver. The DRF suggested Wreck Beach. I let the cat out of the bag and enlightened the couple as to the fact that it is a nudist beach.

At some point, a man of East Asian descent wearing shorts and flip-flops came in and asked, a shade disoriented sounding, if this was the end of the train? I said: “Yes, unless you jump out the back. But I believe that’s against Via Rail policy!” glancing at a crew member meaningfully. The East Asian left prompting speculation that he had got turned around.

There are signs on doors towards the back of the train saying the Park car is reserved for Prestige passengers only between 6 AM and 4 PM. The signs are in English, French, German and what is probably Chinese. As well, all but the last two rows of the Park car’s dome are reserved for Prestige passengers. Tonight, I boldly sat in one of the forbidden chairs. Unsurprisingly, no one complained as there was only one other passenger up there and he wasn’t Prestige class.

August 5th
The night went by with the usual wakings expected of the first night. These later became a series of disturbing dreams in which I “awoke” from a dream into another dream, sometimes verging into nightmare. I came to in the early morning light of Hornepayne. This meant the train was well behind schedule.

After a continental breakfast, or at least what Via Rail calls a “continental breakfast”, I went a Skyline car dome. As I did so, we left Longlac where upon I spotted a pair of American white pelicans perched on a rock in the “lac” in question. Pelicans are fun birds to watch. They are also easy to identify.

The Canadian has the policy of dealing with time changes by having train time change after supper. This, by the train we are currently 8:48 Central Daylight Savings time. However, the true local time is 9:48 Eastern Daylight Time and will be for another 4 hours or so. The classic sleeping cars have a pair of washrooms at the front end of them. The one of the left (looking forward) is usually marked for men, and the other for women. I have always respected the signage. However, on the car following mine (“Lorne Manor”), the washrooms are marked for both sexes. So I happened to use the right hand one. I was surprised to see it was configured differently, with the washbasin to the side and a large mirror with a shelf and a stool beneath it. My conclusion (which I hope doesn’t sound sexist) was that it was intended (back in the day) to allow ladies to apply makeup in relative comfort.

The kilometres long container trains continue to amaze me. While they are very long, they are relatively light compared to mineral hauling trains. Typically they only have a pair of locomotives hauling them. (I have seen pictures, circa 1970, of freights being hauled through the Rockies by six or more locomotives.) Mind you, this means they are slow to accelerate to the speed limit hence why CN is reluctant to stop them, unless necessary.

On why my train to Toronto was late

Partly from stress and partly from the hot weather, I was sweating profusely when I walked Leonardo into Central Station and began the process of checking in the bike and my duffle bag. This involved taking the panniers off and because it was me, checking that a few important items had actually been packed. I also took off the lower parts of my convertible trousers and my biking shoes. A woman behind the baggage counter joked there should be music to accompany my stripping down.

When he saw my helmet, the attendant in the business lounge asked me how far I had ridden. He was disappointed to hear that I had only come a few kilometres.

The train left Central Station a little more than twenty minutes late as we had to wait for the Ocean train from Halifax (which was more than an hour late) to get in so a hundred plus passengers could make the connection across the platform along with their luggage. The consist on the Ocean was interesting as it started with stainless steel cars, probably from the CPR’s big batch from Budd. It then became Renaissance cars before, changing again to stainless steel Château sleepers and a Park dome car.

Once everyone was aboard, the train trundled along out through Point-St-Charles and St-Henri. A bit short of Dorval, it stopped to let another Via Train by.

At Dorval, we seemed to stop for an unduly long time. Then the train manager came on the PA to say that Via Rail does not tolerate verbal violence towards its crew or other passengers. As a consequence of this, the train was delayed some passengers were being removed from the train! Three police cars arrived. I didn’t see any of the altercation. (Apparently business class passengers are better behaved! ;-) )

As the train pulled out of the station, now an hour late, I saw two old ladies entering the station pulling rolling suitcases. I speculated that they were the offending parties and about just what had happened. From working at the Library, I know that you can get some pretty rude and obnoxious old folks whose lack of respect for rules of behaviour is frequently compounded by poor listening skills. (I also get some sweethearts who are sometimes almost embarrassingly grateful for what I do for them.)

On a coincidence of last names

I was making a reservation over the phone with a B&B in Drumheller this morning. As my last name isn’t very common, after giving it out of habit, I immediately gave the spelling of it. The owner chuckled in amusement as he pronounced his last name the same way but used the French (or more probably Breton) spelling rather than the Welsh spelling of my family. My last name is rather ordinary Welsh word which has its' equivalent in Breton which is a closely related language. That last name is not uncommon in Quebec but is pronounced in Quebec French rather less pleasantly to the ear than my last name, at least in my opinion.

On good news, bad news, good news and indifferent news about Floria die Fleddermoose's recent tune-up

The tune-up worked wonders for Floria die Fleddermoose. By replacing the rear wheel, I did away with a hub that was well past its prime. It has been a relative joy to bike to and from work. I was thinking this as I rode home today and decided I would pop round the bike shop to pay my compliments. As I got a bit further on, I noticed that there was a bit of a grinding sensation when I pushed down on the left pedal. At a red light, I investigated, thinking that maybe a bearing had gone in the left pedal, which would be not big deal as pedals are cheap and easily within my ability to replace. However, I discovered that the left crank arm seemed to be loose, moving somewhat out of its' usual plane.

I assumed that it was a case that someone at the shop hadn't tightened it as completely as he should have. As I don't have a large enough Allen key, I stopped at the shop on the way home. After complementing the staff on the good job they had done, I described the apparent problem. Steve got the staff to investigate. It seems the person who worked on the crank should have applied Locktite instead of grease at some point in the reassembly of the crank.

The mechanics went to work and got Floria back in shape in ten minutes or so. One of them explained that the crank is on the old side, hence the need for Locktite. He suggested that I consider replacing the crank at some point. I expect I will, but not until it is time for another tune-up.

(I believe he is the same person who, when I dropped off Floria two weeks ago, suggested that I should protect my rims by installing disc brakes. At the time, I explained that while disc brakes would indeed prolong the life of my rims, they would also attract unwanted attention from bike thieves. As die Fleddermoose spends much of her time outdoors, I felt that I was better off buying new rims every few years than buying a new bike. Steve, who knows me better, agreed with my logic.)

On the benefits of a long-term relationship with your friendly local bikeshop

I take my bikes for servicing at Martin Swiss. As their website shows, they have been around for more than eighty years. I have been using them for about twenty years and the people there have got to know me, particularly Steve.

Last week, I took Floria die Fleddermoose in for some major servicing, including two new wheels, new brake-shifters and several other lesser bits and pieces. I picked her up after work this afternoon. Steve brought her out and I gave her a once over. There were a couple of things missing from the picture, namely wheel reflectors.

These are required by law in Quebec, especially at night. In addition, my readers will know that I believe in high visibility while biking. (Which is a bit ironic as I was watching Monty Python's "How not to be seen" sketch last night.)

I asked Steve if I could get some reflectors. He dug in a drawer to produce a nondescript, unlabelled set of reflectors. "Here, you can have them for free provided you install them yourself!" He said this with a grin as we had been discussing how busy the shop has been. Also, wheel reflectors are incredibly easy to install. The tricky bit is remembering to put them on the opposite side of the wheel from the valve.