My Trans-Canada Bike Adventure — Day 9 of Ride for Di

Monday of this week, August 3rd—Day 9—was the most incredible day of the journey so far. And Day 10 turned out to be equally notable, but for being the most satisfying and fulfilling imaginable—I’ll write about that in a future post.

On the evening before Day 9, I made a stupid decision a smart calculated risk that would lead to some incredible vistas and wildlife, as well as some of the best riding and hiking imaginable. My Garmin bike computer revealed a shortcut that would take me along a trail beside a lake. I usually don’t rely on Garmin alone to plan my routes. Normally, I use other apps to double-check that everything will actually work.

But at this campground, as well as the one the night before, there was no internet and no electricity to fully charge my devices. So I took the Garmin shortcut.

At first, the path was wide and reminded me of the many bikeable trails in Gatineau Park.

And the scenery was amazing!

But the wildlife encounters that morning was something else entirely.

But previous to all these, while I was still in the park, on the service road leading to the entrance/exit, I came down a fast descent at around 6:30 a.m. into a blind left-hand corner.

I squeezed the brakes as hard as I could.

Just metres in front of me stood a brown bear staring at me.

Her cubs, startled, bolted off the road and scampered up nearby tree trunks to get away from me.

The mother was startled too, she had backed up a bit.

What could I do?

I couldn’t go forward. And there was no way I was going to back my fully loaded bike up the hill.

I found myself reaching for my iPhone.

Maybe I was thinking that my very last video before I died might also be my best one ever—capturing some intense drama for posterity?

I looked at the screen.

Shit.

Because there was no cellular service in the park, I had shut the iPhone off to save battery.

I started powering it up.

The bear was looking at me.

Then, she reminded me of my wife and kids, who get really annoyed when Dad takes too long to take the family portrait—she simply turned and ambled into the forest. No hurry.

I thought the bear cubs were freaking adorable as they shimmied down the tree trunks, butt-first, and then chased after their mother.

It would have made an amazing video.

Instead, I watched the Apple startup icon slowly appear on my phone while my hand trembled from the adrenaline rush.

I later confirmed that the bear was not a grizzly, but a black bear. Interestingly, black bears can have brown fur.

But it didn’t matter what kind of bear she was in that moment.

To me, she was the size of a Volkswagen minivan.

And I was very pleased that she had other ideas for her menu du jour.

Oh, yeah, back to the route: it started to get a bit rough.

Then rougher.

And then really rough.

My bike broke down—the derailleur failed—and it could no longer be ridden.

I walked it across a beam over a river. I lifted it over fallen trees. And as the “hike” continued for hours without seeing another person, I gradually lost the good humour required to take pictures of myself crossing knee-deep streams, pushing the bike up steep riverbanks, or scrambling across rockslides and the many other fun obstacles along the way.

I had committed to staying safe on this journey and to not doing anything stupid.

Technically, except for the bear thing, I was doing pretty well.

I had lots of food, a tent, and enough supplies to get me through the night and, eventually, back to civilization.

But in retrospect, taking that trail was incredibly dumb a good calculated risk. I’ve had lots of experience on mountain trails, in the Rockies and in the Pyrenees.

When I got to within about five kilometres of a road, I was totally exhausted or, as my son might say, “fucked.” Maybe I would camp there for the night.

My hope was that a park ranger on patrol would eventually find me and take me back to the park entrance. From there, I could call my loved ones to let them know I was safe and sound. I could catch a bus—yes, Banff has city buses with bike racks—and get to town, find a bike shop in the morning, and be back on the road the next day.

Then…

Ta-da!

An off-road vehicle appeared.

And with it came three guardian angels.

Young, bright, energetic and clearly very comfortable in the wilderness, they knew exactly what to do.

Before I could say much of anything, they had my bike, my bags and me loaded into their truck…a VERY serious off-road vehicle with wheels monstrously huge.

And off we went.

The driver, Tobias—the guy on the right in the photo—had just bought the new truck, and it was impressive.

He left the road and crossed an open area that looked completely impassable, with terrain as random and rugged as on the moon.

The truck pitched and bounced as we made our way forward, and I got my first real off-roader experience: being thrown around in the back seat like a rag doll.

Actually, it fun.

It reminded me of riding one of those mechanical bulls.

Along the way, Tobias pointed to a ridge where they had eaten dinner, then to a steep hill where he said his truck had slid sideways.

I asked him if he wasn’t terrified that the truck would roll.

“No, it don’t roll.”

Apparently, Tobias had never promised his girlfriend that he wouldn’t do anything dangerous.

Mikayla, the woman on the left, is a town councillor in Cochrane. She told me which hotel I should stay at and recommended two “really great” bike shops where I could get my bike fixed.

Ethan, in the middle, is a student.

He was the observer of the group, making observations about me, about what I was all about, about Alberta, about politics—pretty much everything.

At one point, he turned his attention to Tobias.

“He’s a true stereotypical Albertan.”

Tobias protested.

Ethan continued.

“Yeah, you work in the oil industry, you drive this truck, and you’re listening to Country and Western!”

Ethan seemed to have won the argument.

Tobias is a handsome young man with a moustache, wearing the kind of shirt and blue jeans that, if he had been wearing a cowboy hat, would have made him look a little like the Marlboro Man.

The off-road trail eventually turned into a gravel road and then, finally, a paved road as we headed toward Cochrane.

We travelled through the foothills and past streams where Tobias talked about trout fishing, and the outlooks where they’d camp or hang out. Along with the others they talked about what makes this region so special and their love of living the outdoors life.

We traveled over a large indigenous held territory and other stretches of land, with virtually no houses—stretches of hills, ridges, valleys, and rivers that were absolutely gorgeous in the golden light of this evening.

Eventually, they dropped me at a Tim Hortons about a hundred metres from my hotel so I could get something to eat.

They wouldn’t take any money.

They wouldn’t even let me buy them food.

They said they were just happy to have been able to help.

Such wonderful people. Bright, full of life, generous. What a blessing to have met them. 

The staff at Tim Hortons were just shutting everything down for the night. The only food they could still serve me was pastries.

After my shower, lying for the first time in eight days in an actual bed, I thought about supper.

My apple fritter.

I seemed plenty enough—maybe I was already plenty full from all the humble pie I had been forced to eat earlier that day.

Either way, I fell into bed knowing that I had somehow survived one of the most spectacular, frightening, frustrating and ultimately rewarding days of my journey.

And I had three complete strangers to thank for it.