Hitting the road again: Just 6,500 kilometres to go

May 7, 2016

It was time to leave Vancouver and resume my journey, and consequently time for this blog to finally return from being like the script of some soap opera to an actual journal about bicycle touring. It was a Saturday morning and I said my goodbyes to Gabi and Alejandro, with a promise to reunite again in Montreal in late June, and was back on my fully loaded bike by 8:30am.

Kevin was certainly excited to hit the road again

It was a beautiful spring morning, sunny and quite mild, and the ride through Vancouver was an absolute pleasure. I crossed the bridge from Kitsilano into the core of the city, and followed the shoreline bicycle paths all of the way around to Stanley Park. It was a Saturday and there were lots of people out and about – jogging, walking, or riding bicycles. Some road cyclists went fast in the road, others cruised along with me in our own dedicated bicycle lane (and by the way, Vancouver was by far the most bicycle-friendly city I'd been in since Europe). In the distance snow-topped foresty mountains across the bay set a magnificent backdrop, and the atmosphere was just wonderful. Vancouver simply is one of the absolute finest cities to live in on this planet, no doubt about that.

I went through the big forest that is Stanley Park and crossed the Lion's Gate Bridge north one more time to get to North Vancouver. Then I turned west, into the imaginatively named West Vancouver. Here I stopped at the travel agent that had been able to make the “ferry” booking for me and made my final payment. Everything was sorted, all I had to do was cycle across the country to get to the ship. I had eleven weeks to do it, but it was six and a half thousand kilometres, so I thought I'd better not spend too much more time going the wrong way. But I nevertheless continued west on Marine Parade, on a road that was very popular with road cyclists. Ironically the cars on this road were very courteous, and gave me lots of space, but many of the road cyclists blasted past me far too close. Marine Parade ended at Horseshoe Bay, where I made a stop. I walked down to the harbour and touched the waters of the Pacific Ocean for the last time. This was my furthest west. From now on, I would be heading for the Atlantic.

View of Stanley Park and downtown Vancouver, as seen from Lion's Gate Bridge

And a view of the bridge itself, cycling across it six days after sailing under it

Ready to go to the Atlantic. 6,500 kilometres to go!

For a little while beyond Horseshoe Bay I was on a relatively quiet road, which was nice because I was able to fully appreciate the scenery. I'm afraid to have to tell you that photographs could not do it justice, least of all mine, which is a shame because I was so blown away by the scene I was cycling through that I stopped to take a hundred photos. The road rose and fell as it wound along the coast and across the bright blue water were snowy peaks. The blue of the sky and the sea was intense, and was complimented by the green of the coniferous trees and the vibrant yellow and purple of wild flowers in full bloom. It was achingly beautiful. It was amazing and incredible, but somehow I couldn't really appreciate it. My overriding feeling, I'm sorry to say, was one of sadness. Dea was supposed to be here. She would have loved this. It just felt wrong and sad without her.

Before long my quiet road joined with the 99 highway and I had no choice but to cycle on what was rather a busy road. Fortunately it at least had a good wide shoulder, and the scenery remained no less spectacular as I headed further north. But it was a hot day and, with my knee also hurting a little after so long off the bike, I found the road quite demanding. On one particularly long climb I grew hot and sweaty and frustrated. This heat was not a part of the deal. It wasn't supposed to be this hot in Canada. But at the top of this climb I found a park in which was a lake. There were a few people swimming in it and I wasted no time in jumping in myself to cool off. It was intensely cold water, of course, but mightily refreshing too.

Besides the lake I made another brief stop to visit Shannon Falls, a set of waterfalls that I would describe as not the best waterfalls I've ever seen, but not the worst. Actually the 99 highway, the road to Whistler, that I was on, I had already cycled in the opposite direction back in 2011, and so I had probably already visited Shannon Falls. But I couldn't remember them.

I passed through the town of Squamish, which has some good bicycle paths too by the way, late in the day, and then made camp in the forest soon after. I was terribly worried about bears as I went about finding a place to sleep in amongst the trees. As I sat and ate my dinner I looked around me nervously in all directions, my mind playing tricks on me and imagining tree stumps and shadows to be bears. What was it that Sasha had said to me way back in Siberia when I'd cycled there in August 2014? “Bears might attack people, but only in early spring or late autumn when they are hungry.” In August such words had been intended to calm my fears, and they had. Remembering them now, in early spring, I found them less reassuring.

Today's ride: 87 km (54 miles)
Total: 48,731 km (30,262 miles)

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