Lake Louise and the Bow Valley Parkway: Nevermind the bears, what about the wardens?

May 19, 2016

I woke up the next morning to the pained cry of “Oh my God, a spider!” soon followed by “Oh my God, what is that?” and finally “Eww, is that a slug?” I rushed over to help poor Vivian, by which I mean I laid in my tent and ignored her. I supposed these were not the kind of critters that one usually had to deal with whilst camping on gas station forecourts, but I reasoned she would soon figure out a way of coping. The wild back country was not Vivian's natural setting. She described herself frequently as a typical 'Toronto-girl' which was interesting because she actually hailed from Sudbury, a four hour drive from Toronto. By the same token I could describe myself as a typical Parisian, but I understood her point. She was a city girl, plucked out of her usual setting and thrust into the scary and difficult world of long-distance cycle touring.

Any hopes for a day of swift progress were dashed by the overcast cloudy skies that partially hid the mountains from view, not that I had any such hopes anyway. I wanted to get to Lake Louise visitor centre and sit around on the Internet for a few hours, as had become my way. Luckily my new companion was absolutely in agreement that this was a fabulous idea, and so after twenty kilometres completed in light drizzle we arrived at the village of Lake Louise and set about doing just that. Fortunately the visitor centre was a good one, by which I mean it had wifi and electrical sockets.

On our way to Lake Louise we crossed the border from British Columbia into Alberta. Hurrah!

Vivian had been complaining that her phone had died the previous day, and with its return to life I overheard her making a series of calls to family back home who, with her going a whole night without being online, had apparently feared the worst. Although the goal of her cross-Canada cycle was to raise money to send her grandparents to Hong Kong, so that her dementia-suffering grandfather could be reunited with his brother that he had not seen for thirty years, it seemed that the rest of her family were less than in favour of this whole endeavour. While I could not say that my own family had been hugely supportive when I first declared I was off to cycle the world I could at least be grateful that they didn't feel the need to constantly call me telling me to come home. My resolve to help Vivian grew stronger.

After a few hours escaping from the worst of the rain we ventured outside and by chance another touring cyclist had appeared at the front entrance to the visitor centre - apparently front entrances of visitor centres are the place for touring cyclists to meet out here. This one was a young man who, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, looked hilarious. He had a clear plastic emergency poncho that looked like his top half had been wrapped in cling film and plastic bags tucked into his shoes that must have been fantastic at keeping the rain out but wouldn't half have made his feet sweat, which must have somewhat defeated the point. He had long hair flowing out from under his cap, and was wearing something that looked suspiciously like jeans, upon which was holstered amongst other things a hefty can of bear spray.

He looked very much like the kind of chap who would say “dude” a lot, and he spoke a bit like it too as he introduced himself as Tyler. He was on a short little practice tour of a few days, getting used to his new bike and gear before a planned ride down to South America commencing in July. He was extremely enthusiastic and smiley and told us with great joy about how he had been taking a nap at the side of the road when a car had honked at him. Rubbing his eyes he'd looked up to see the driver pointing just across the road, on the other side of which a mother bear and her cub were nosing about. Bear spray, me thinks, is less effective when you are asleep.

The bear story had me enthused. I was really looking forward to seeing some more bears, beautiful animals that they are. Vivian was, in this sense, of the opposing view. But as we headed out of Lake Louise and began cycling the Bow Valley Parkway, the less frequented small road that parallels the main highway, I had high hopes. Information boards at the start of the road told that this really was bear country, and almost everyone of the cyclists we'd met heading the other way had seen them. Well, I wanted something to look at – sadly the clouds continued to block the views here. I was now back on the route I'd cycled in 2011, so I'd been here before in good weather, and I knew how beautiful it could be.

There was little traffic on the road and Vivian and I had a chance to ride alongside one another and talk. She was an interesting person indeed. On the one hand coming across as, and I'll use her own word here, 'scatter-brained' and yet on the other revealing that she had run her own business, and run marathons, and one cannot help but admire anyone who can cycle across the rocky mountains pushing up every incline. I asked her if she'd travelled much, and she told me she had been around North America quite a bit. I asked her which states she had visited. “Florida, Orlando, wait Orlando is in Florida. Umm, New York, Montana, Washington, Chicago, Manhatten, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nyoming. Wait, why are you laughing? Is it Naomi? What is it?”

We were making steady progress without unfortunately seeing any bears when I caught sight of a blob of yellow advancing upon us in my mirror. It was yet another cycle tourist, and I slowed to say hello. The rider was a middle-aged and rather tall and rather yellow man by the name of John Burt. We cycled alongside one another now, chatting, and John revealed himself to be very friendly indeed. He was on his way across Canada too, and heading for Newfoundland. At the point at which he revealed this Vivian, who was just ahead of us, screeched to a halt. “What?!” She was excited that he was aiming for the same destination as her, and it seemed very much like she was still looking for someone to ride with, even though I was under the impression I was riding with her. But he was planning to complete the ride in two months, and was going much too fast for either of us to contemplate trying to keep up with him for long. As he headed off into the distance Vivian sighed. It looked like she was stuck with me.

To read John's account of the day (and see a photo of me riding my bike) and see his blog, click on this here thing

We noticed that there was a campground that was closed for the season, just next to Johnston Canyon, and so we decided to stop here for the night. We parked our bikes at the trailhead and went to explore the canyon. I'd been here before, and mostly I remembered the walk being extremely busy with tourists, but with it being evening and the off-season this time there was hardly anybody about. That was probably why I enjoyed Johnston Canyon a lot more than I had before. The trek involved following a path through the narrow steep-sided canyon, but it was at times quite exhilarating, because the path is made up of bridges and walkways affixed to the canyon walls. We followed the turquoise river that cut through the canyon upstream until we arrived at a waterfall and cave. It was good. I liked it. So did Vivian. This was apparently the first time she had stopped and done anything on this trip so far.

After our little excursion we rode over to the campsite hoping to sneak in and pitch up for the night, but our plans were soon thwarted when we saw a collection of buildings there with lights on. It appeared to be some sort of residence for the park staff. Vivian wanted to ask to camp anyway, but I thought our lack of park passes might raise eyebrows, and so we left. Within a few kilometres we came to an open barrier and a sign declaring that this road was closed to all traffic after 8 p.m. presumably because of wildlife. A quick check of the watch revealed that it was 7:50 p.m. and so technically we should not really continue, especially as Vivian wasn't terribly keen on the idea of running into any wildlife. So we decided to retreat a little bit and find a place to push into the forest and make camp.

I found a good place to get in and began to push my bike into the trees, with Vivian following. Just then I heard a car coming on what had been an almost entirely empty road. I hurried a little, instinctively, to avoid being seen, though I knew it was futile what with Vivian being behind me in a bright hi-viz vest. I heard the car slow to a stop and looked behind to see the white vehicle with green stripe running down its length. It was a park warden. “Are you serious!!!” I said aloud, turning my bike around and pushing back towards the road. “What are the odds!!!”

The warden got out of the car and, not surprisingly, told us that we were not allowed to be camping in here. I pointed out that the campground was shut down and the road ahead was closing at 8 p.m. It seemed fair enough, we really didn't have anywhere else to go. “You've got three minutes to get through that barrier,” he said gruffly, “and you'd better make your way to Banff tonight.”

The warden was a bit of an ass, but we'd been caught red-handed and bang to rights, fair enough, lets get on with it, but Vivian continued to remonstrate. This, believe it or not, did not help the situation and the man told us that he would surely have fined us or sent us to court had we been found camping.

Although we now needed to cycle another twenty kilometres in the rain my mood was greatly cheered a moment or two later. I cycled on past the barrier and then looked back to watch in amusement as it automatically closed just before Vivian could make it through. She was trapped. Except she wasn't of course, because, as I said before, such barriers provide little trouble for cyclists, particularly ones as small as Vivian.

See we're in a bit of a predicament, and the thing to do now, is to check your phone

We cycled on, and saw some elk grazing at the side of the road. Life wasn't so bad. I thought we might just go on a bit and then pull over and camp anyway, but the terrain soon became less inviting for such, and I was naturally quite worried about being caught. Those fears gained more traction when the warden's car appeared again behind us. There was nothing for it. He was following us to make sure we left. I worried about Vivian's mood now. I'd hoped to make life easier for her by accompanying her, and yet this situation, cycling in the rain at nine o'clock at night with no idea where we would sleep, being pursued by an overzealous park warden who took his job way too seriously, was far from the ideal picture of cycle touring bliss I'd have liked to have painted.

We finally made it to the end of the Bow Valley Parkway and rejoined the Trans-Canada, leaving our park warden friend sitting in his car watching us duck under the barrier at the other end. We were now just a few kilometres from the town of Banff, and finding a place to sleep was our top priority in the fading light. At least we had a segregated cycle lane to ride on, and when this veered away from the highway and into the forest we had to take our chance. With no possibilty of any warden cars following us down here I guided us off the path and into the ever-darkening forest. It was not ideal, but it was going to have to do. Vivian was muttering about being worried about animals here, but I pitched my tent and slept soundly, relieved to have made it. Vivian, as she would later tell me, spent the night wide awake, with a whistle in her mouth, can of bear spray in one hand, hunting knife in the other.

Today's ride: 70 km (43 miles)
Total: 49,661 km (30,839 miles)

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