At my last stop before starting the descent, I noticed chords beginning to show through my rear tire. This was the same tire that I had blamed for two of my flats way back in Quesnel, and it had performed without mishap for 400 km. I figured it would probably hold out for 70 more km to get me into Whistler. But once I started down the first descent, knowing I had 1000 m to descend over the next couple dozen kilometers, all I could think about was that tire. I pulled over and changed it.
As I started down the hill again, I gently applied the brakes, and realized I hadn't closed my rear brakes! The brakes have a quick release on them that makes it possible to pull an inflated tire out from between the brake pads. Leaving it open means that the brake levers have to be squeezed much farther before the pads touch the wheel rim, and it seems to affect the amount of braking force that can be applied as well. Jeez, I thought, that was dumb! After pulling over again to close the brakes, I felt confident in my bike and was excited to fly down the rest of the descent.
I whipped by the sign warning of 15% descents ahead, then (thankfully) squeezed the brakes hard when I came to the first sign advising 15 km/hr around the first switchback. So much for speeding down the hill! I spent the rest of the descent riding the brakes and hoping they held up, so I wouldn't go crashing into one of the cement barricades like a bobsledder in a square-bottomed shoot.
Although the road was fairly narrow and full of sharp turns, traffic wasn't a problem. All the vehicles were going at least as slow as I was down the hill. When I finally rounded the last turn and released my brakes I breathed a sigh of relief. Five minutes later the first cars passed me, finally accelerating after their own descents. A strong scent of burnt pads lingered in the air behind them.
After descending from the pass, it was a short ride into Pemberton, BC, where I stopped to buy an icecream cone and send a text to my host for the night (I would've called, but she had told me she would be out at a birthday dinner for her one year old son).
From Pemberton, it was just a short 30 km to Whistler. I hoped it would be flat.
Of course it was not. The road began to climb immediately outside of Pemberton, and didn't stop all the way to Whistler. It hardly even mattered at that point. I put my bike in a gear I could "spin" (pedal with a fast cadence and low resistance) uphill in, and made it into Whistler at about 9 PM. I was proud: when I realized how big the climb out of Lillooet was, I wasn't sure I would make it into Whistler in the heat...I had done it!
But the day wasn't over yet. I called my host for specific directions to her house, and was relieved when she answered the phone. Her house was only a few miles away.
As a fitting end to the day, my nose chose this moment to begin bleeding profusely. My nose has a habit of bleeding spontaneously; I couldn't be to surprised by it after all the breathing I did that day. I hardly cared any more, and let it drip on my jacket as I pedalled to my host's house. What a sight I must have been! Greasy, sweaty, exhausted, and now splattered with blood! My host will never let me in! I thought, with a laugh.
After some confusion, I pulled into her driveway. I used the last cup of water in my bottle to wash my face and hands, and pulled a less-dirty shirt over my blood stained jacket. My host came out of her house to make sure I found it. "Chandler?" she said.
"That's me!"
I went inside, met my host and a fellow cyclist also staying there for two nights. I took a shower, and we sat and talked. I had made it!
This marked the end of the first phase of my bike trip. I had cycled 1350 km through rural BC, pedaling about 150 km per day. I camped in the woods, tied my food in trees, and had to plan ahead to make sure I didn't run out of food between towns. Now I was spending two nights in a bed before a short pedal to Vancouver, then visiting friends for four nights in the Seattle area. And south of Seattle, I'd be pedalling down the Oregon coast, where there are towns every 30-50 km. The wilderness endurance cycle was over, and the relaxed exploratory cruise was about to begin. I went to bed tired and content.
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