Once I finished updating this blog, I headed over to the bike shop in Quesnel to get some new tubes, tires, and patches. I enjoyed visiting the shop: the couple that owned it were friendly and enthusiastic about the idea of cycling to San Francisco. Unfortunately, they only had one inner tube the right size for my tires, but I also bought six more patches and a new tire (which I decided to carry until the next time I got a flat. Based on the previous day's misadventures, I didn't expect it to take very long). From the bike shop I made my way over to the bakery before starting my ride and ate a pound cake for breakfast. It was well past eleven by the time I started to ride.
I made decent time that day, but eventually the sun came out and I got bogged down by the heat. I pulled over to the side of the road when it neared the Fraser River and made my way down to the water. I had just taken off my shoes to wade around when I heard a voice say, "Everything OK?"
Great, I thought, somebody must have seen the bike and stopped to be helpful. I wonder why I didn't hear their car? I often leave my bike next to the road when I make water stops, and keep an ear out for people stopping. I hope that I could run back to the road in time to claim the bike before somebody else decides it should belong to them. There's a steep bank of rip rap between the river and the road, so I couldn't see who was talking. It was hard to hear over the river anyway, so I reluctantly took my feet out of the cool water and picked my way up the rocks.
It was another biker! We chattered for awhile...he was biking from New York to Homer, Alaska. His dad died in 2007 and he's naming a mountain after him near Homer. We exchanged tips on campsites in our respective directions, and he warned me about biking across the Astoria bridge in Oregon (he rode down the coast a few years ago). Apparently, that was the scariest part of his ride...I'll have to make sure to cross it at an hour when there's not much traffic. While we talked, the same car drove back and forth by us several times; the biker told me it was his cameraman, and that they were shooting a documentary about the trip.
Eventually, he reached out to shake my hand: "What's your name, by the way? My name's Cha--VROOOM." A semi cut him off, but I thought he said....
"What did you say your name was?" I ask.
"Chandler."
I grinned. How do these things happen? "That's my name too."
"No f---ing way!"
This extended the conversation for several more minutes, until we ran out of things to say about the name Chandler. Eventually, we pedaled off in opposite directions, agreeing to find each other on Facebook, but knowing we'll probably never see each other again. This puts me in a good mood for several hours.
As the day finally started to cool off, I arrived in Williams Lake. It's the last sizable town for awhile, but there's a provincial park with a campground about 50 km down the road. I had figured on camping there, before I got such a late start in the morning. Regardless of whether I chose to press on or find a campground in town, I was hungry and ready for a break from the sun, so I pulled into a Subway and ate for a bit before biking on. About 5 km down the road there's a last cluster of shops marking the end of town. Although I was kind of itching to go, I remembered my troubles finding a campsite after leaving Spencer at about this time, and pulled into a gas station to ask about campgrounds.
The cashier couldn't think of any, which seemed unlikely given that my map showed a camping symbol next to the town (thanks to Eric Fontez for the map! I made good use of it). But then again, I didn't double check any of the information on the map. A woman came up to check out and chimed in, saying there was a campground back down the hill five or ten kilometers, but that I should really go set up my tent on the public school lot just a couple hundred meters away: "It's public land," she said, "I don't see how it could be a problem."
Somehow, I didn't feel comfortable pitching my tent on school grounds--I really don't like getting yelled at--and I was in the mood to ride anyway. I decided to press on, figuring in the worst case scenario I would ride for an hour after dark and get all the way to the provincial camp ground.
This time, it worked out. I did ride almost all the way to the campground, but the traffic was minimal and the confidence that there was a good campsite ahead made the ride enjoyable. I ended up finding a BC recreation site that allowed camping about five kilometers before the provincial park and followed the dirt road to it a few kilometers off the highway before laying my sleeping bag out under the stars and falling asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment