My Valentine

My Valentines Day started a few sun-ups before the actual day was set to dawn. Thursday I had set up some self-love by scheduling myself into a free yoga class at Mission Yoga to celebrate Pauline’s birthday. After accomplishing some success at work of which I was proud, Trevor and I took off for a brisk walk a few minutes after five to pick up a small something for Pauline. While I’d never met her before, it seemed like if she was willing to share her birthday with a bunch of yogis, she should get a little something special, too. I picked up a potted miniature daffodil with a little bit of bloom but with the promise of more (and some chocolate, of course).

The yoga class hit the spot. It provided a good mix of challenge and light-hearted fun. Refreshed and sweaty, attendees were invited to stick around for chai tea and cake. I hadn’t anticipated such a delicious end to the party, so I indulged and met some new people while I was at it.

I arrived home later than I’d anticipated. Trevor was making dinner, and I told him to expect me a few minutes after 8. It was quarter-til 9 when I walked through the door – and into a candlelit condo. Dinner and a glass of poured wine awaited me. What a brilliant surprise!

Now, this is kind of funny because at the conclusion of dinner Trevor hands me a coupon to “redeem” from a coupon booklet I handmade a Christmas as a gift for him. With “Romantic Candlelight Dinner” redeemed, it seems I both gave the gift and reaped it all at once.

Friday, I worked a half-day. We took off in the afternoon headed toward Big White. We left a bit later than we had originally planned and only had a potential of two hours of night skiing left available to us. We opted out of night skiing and into a night of television (which is odd for us) watching the opening ceremony for the Olympics.

Saturday we awoke early, ate breakfast, and hit the cross-country ski trails.

Having skied last year at Big White, using Trevor’s mom’s skis and finding the terrain challenging, I approached our outing on Saturday with wary excitement. While I looked forward to moving my body and breathing fresh air, I also knew that I’d have to maintain calm to maneuver down hills, up hills, and curves. I found the challenge exceptional last year and experienced a crying fit after one tumble down a relatively small hill – the outburst more ego-driven than pain-induced.

This year I got a pair of skis, boots, and poles for Christmas from Trevor. We picked out this generous gift several weeks ago at the Fresh Air Experience. We went to Telemark, a cross-country ski club on the West side of Kelowna, once already this year with John G. We ran the green (easiest) trails once through. I gained confidence with each run, then I ran all three trails again. Trevor and John took on a blue (intermediate) trail while I finished up the last two of my green trails, and then we all convened for a short portion of the trail they didn’t get to ski. The experience at Telemark helped me shape up some confidence on my skis. I fell a lot – sometimes intentionally to “brake” and sometimes unintentionally, like when I fell face first while climbing up a relatively mild incline. The falling doesn’t bother me too much generally. I just keep reminding myself that everyone falls when they are first learning. That’s okay.


I was so glad to have the Telemark notch on my belt as we started out our skiing on Saturday, because I know that to get to green trails in Big White, you have to go through blue trails first. Clearly, the designers of the Nordic system at Big White did not ace logic. Regardless, we stepped onto the trails – first near the village center on the multi-use trails (sidewalks) then turning left to connect with a wide road that overlaps a few downhill runs, before turning sharply right and down hill. THWACK! My first fall finds me in a heap of snow. It was easy to push up and start again though, and after all it was a tight turn.

A short way down the trail a road intersects the path. I pop off the skis, cross on foot, then put them back on. This starts the descent that found me a crumpled crying mess last year. I dug in my skis at an angle, utilizing my snow plow perfected on my Telemark training, and skied the length of the downhill with control and ease. I celebrated my victory over that hill and continued – confidence growing.

At the next trail junction, we head left on Lew’s Loop. It’s a blue trail, with the promise of taking us to a green run. It wasn’t all that bad, and between intersection 3 and intersection 6, I don’t think I fell at all.

I had so much positive time on my skis that I was even beginning to access my form. I discovered I could scissor my legs together for a better inner-leg work out and for a more seamless glide along the tracks. I had learned earlier at Telemark that when I’m going up hill in the tracks, if I engage my core and lean over the front of my skis a bit that I don’t stand as much of a chance of backsliding.

As we approached intersection 6, I heard some whining motorization that I thought might be a chainsaw. Just as we got to the trail junction, two snowmobiles whizzed by us and up the Cougar Cut-Off Trail in the direction we were to be heading. That must have been what I heard earlier. After a brief break, we continued up the formerly groomed trail that was now marred into hunks and chunks of snow by the machines that ripped up the path. They also left a lingering odor of fuel in the air. I don’t think snowmobile and cross-country ski paths should be co-aligned. Besides the auditory impact and the shredded snow, it’s hazardous to have such fast-moving vehicles with such a slow human-powered activity.

At the top of the cut-off trail and the end of shared use trail, we were to turn right onto the blue Copper Kettle Trail. The maps indicate it as blue. The sign at the junction indicated it as black (advanced!). The trail was not groomed. I am not advanced. The map at the last intersection already forewarned me that there would be a steep hill on this portion of the trail. Panic began to set in. Instead of seeing an adventure ahead of me, I got afraid. Trevor, having been here before, assured me it would be fine. I acquiesced but still felt unsure about the path forward. We shuffled through the fresh snow. No tracks here. We would make them. In about a tenth of a mile the trail started to go downhill. Not wanting my skis to take off with me toward the precipice denoted as “steep hill” on the map, I started side-stepping my way down – getting more fearful and more angry with each step.

My head got hotter. My movements became less controlled. My focus became on everything external to me – this trail – this snow – the mis-labeling of this black trail as a blue on the map – Trevor, along with the question – “does he respect my limitations, my fear?” It all boiled up inside, and with my fall (which was inevitable) near the end of the hill, burst a litany of curses. I stood and fell again which brought more hurt and anger. I released myself from my skis and stormed up the hill. I spoke unkindly to Trevor before settling the rage back down and regaining a shaken un-ease that was somewhat closer to calm. We discussed the merits of returning to the shredded trail above or continuing on the path ahead – toward our goal of reaching the Porcupine Cut-Off Trail, a green run nestled between blue ones.

Feeling heard but still not yet feeling well, I traipsed down the descent I had just charged up in anger and walked my way to a place I felt safe again to put on my skis. I should have done that in the first place. Of course, fear and anger sometimes have a way of smashing logic on the rocks, and so it was in this instance.

“My attitude got in a bad way which didn’t help me out at all. In fact, it made things much worse. I got angrier and things got harder. Isn’t that the way of life…” from my journal.

I kept the lead through the first part of the Copper Kettle Trail, breaking tracks that Trevor used to follow behind. I was starting to get tired, so we switched places so that he broke through the snow and made tracks that I could follow. It was a bit further than either of us expected before we reached the Porcupine Cut-Off trail.

It was groomed and in good shape. It made easy work of the downhill trip toward the warming hut. I continued to handle myself with ease on the skis, maneuvering around curves and down hills with control. I even let myself pick up some speed – evidence in my confidence to control my actions.

We took a short break at the warming hut before concluding our 11km (6.8 mi) ski for the day. We took the lift up to the condo and a well-deserved late lunch.

Skiing may have been easier on Saturday because of the conditions. It was a warm day and the top crust of snow was a little soft. It made digging in and getting purchase with my skis easier.

The hot tub was out of commission on Saturday night, so we opted to watch a bit more Olympics. I did some reading, too.

Sunday we awoke to falling snow. We had discussed going to McCullough Nordic ski club on Sunday, but decided that the lower elevation and recent temperatures likely wouldn’t bode well for the snow levels and trails. The new plan took shape: take a quick run on the trails at Big White, return to the condo to pack, then go to McCullough on the way home and ski again. If conditions aren’t favorable there then at least we did some skiing.

We skied a short loop at Big White – taking the Trapping Meadows Trail back up to the gondola. It was snowing still while we went, and the trail conditions weren’t as favorable as Saturday. The snow on the ground was “sticky”. I fell a few times in places I wouldn’t have expected as a result. My attire was less than desirable. I wore my hiking rain shell over top of my clothes as a barrier against the snow. It was like wearing a wet sack - I felt clammy and gross. For the snow it repelled, it trapped as much moisture close to my skin. I also couldn’t wear my glasses without them fogging up, so I skied without them, which isn’t easy because snow flies in your eyes.

Sunday’s trip was less successful, and we opted to bypass McCullough fearing that it wouldn’t be worth our time to investigate if the conditions aren’t ripe for skiing.

We visited with Trevor’s grandmother, then went out to eat dinner, and followed that up “Running the Sahara” a documentary about three guys who do just that.

It’s Monday now, and Trevor has extended this lovefest even further by bringing me chocolate home from his grocery-shopping excursion. I feel the love!

Things I've Learned Cross Country Skiing

Here are a couple of things I’ve learned as a beginner cross-country skier. These things aren’t rocket science – and most folks who ski probably already know – but I feel like I’ve discovered them myself through my experiences.

Gear Matters: Last year I skied in Trevor’s Mom’s old school skis and boots. I appreciated them at the time for the experience they offered. I could experience cross-country skiing and I didn’t have to buy or rent gear to figure out if I liked it. We skied a good bit last year. While I gained confidence on flat terrain, the hills were always hard. This year, with new skis, boots, and poles, I felt much more skilled right from the outset. Maybe it has to do with a bit of experience. But I think, more likely, that gear matters.

• Boots that support the ankles make it easier to control the skis. My ankles are little weak, so when I previously wore a pair of boots that didn’t support my ankles, when I would be struggling to move the ski and it resisted, I took a dive to cater to my whim to protect my ankles.
• Skis are determined based on your weight. Too much or too little weight on skis will impact how they glide (or not) on the surface. Getting a pair that’s right for your body is important.
• Don’t forget the goggles or glasses to protect yourself from in-the-face flying snow if you expect precipitation. It’s uncomfortable to squint and blink to deflect incoming snow while you’re navigating a turn or a “steep” hill.
  

Scissor the Legs: I discovered I could scissor my legs together for a better inner-leg work out and for a more seamless glide along the tracks.

Up hill in tracks: When going up hill in the tracks, engage the core and lean over the front of the skis a bit so you don’t stand as much of a chance of backsliding.

Up hill out of tracks: If doing the duck waddle up a hill, with the tips of your skis pointed out, don’t forget to dig in a bit with the tips of your poles just behind you. With a firm grasp there, you can recover more easily if you do slide back some. I also started using a smaller lift-drag of my foot and ski so that I wouldn’t chance stepping on my own ski and bringing myself into a crashing face plant.

Run and Fall

I was late getting to Andrea's house for a run after work. This last week of work seems just as pressured as all the previous weeks. There's just so much to do, and this time, the feeling of so little time is truth.

But, back on track to the story, while I arrived a bit late, Andrea wasn't ready to go either. We sat and talked for a while. By 7 p.m. we were ready to go and off we went. During our prep-talks about the run, Andrea lobbied for a five mile run, while I wished aloud for something closer to three. We left her place, with my mind creating plenty of resistance to the idea of any enjoyment I might derive from the run. Meanwhile, Andrea pointed out the merits of a five mile run because "you have to run at least 1 or 2 to get over the hard stuff, then you might as well make it worth it by running 5."

Invariably, she lets me pick the route (I love picking the route on runs). And, invariably, I always aim higher than my own ambitions at the outset. The turning point in the run didn't come as I burst through "walls" at mile one or two, though it did come when I took a big fall - tripping over a speed bump in the darkness on Zillicoa St.

That fall broke my resistance that had been building with Andrea's exultation of our enjoyment and her cooing over the passing trees. I fell into a a fairly graceful tumble, with hands and right thigh/butt taking the brunt of the skidding and impact. The quiet fall bruised my bum, tore my glove, and tarnished my ego (but only slightly - since it was injury free and it was graceful). It also opened up new ease for the run.

The tightness of my Achilles heels I had complained of earlier faded from my memory and attention. Legs feeling lighter and with a slight awareness toward the tender tingling of my bum, I picked my feet up higher and continued on with the run. Besides wishing I had Arnica at home to help the bruising, I didn't think a thing more about that fall.

Andrea seemed more keenly aware to pick up her own feet, too, and often extended her arm (as you would when breaking hard in the car to protect the passenger from bolting forward into the dash) as we approached dips and rises along the future terrain of our course.

The miles passed by quickly. We most certainly ran more than five miles; I didn't really want it to end, though I began to feel the fatigue in my legs. At one last juncture on our route where we could have turned right and started the last bit of our run, I chose one last time to push on down the straight-away and give it a little more legnth.

Fall and all, I wish more runs were like this one.

Annie

It's with a heavy heart and a light spirit that I'm writing to ask for your help for another dear friend of mine - Annie the Dog.

Annie and I have lived together for four years and are common companions on runs, walks and hikes. She is such a super well-natured dog, and I'm doing my best to do right by her.

As you likely also know, I've fallen in love with Trevor who lives in British Columbia. In pursuit of solidifying my hunch that he's my long-term soul mate and to ensure we're as compatible nearby as we are over the substantial distance our relationship has endured over the last year and a half, I am going to be with him. I hope to leave in late December to go live with him.The future looks a bit uncertain for my stability to provide a structured and organized life for Annie over the next 12 months, and I'm seeking a foster situation for her during that time. I think it will allow her to stay with all four paws grounded in the land she knows well, while I metaphorically straddle the border to decipher where my future home will be - where Annie can join me.

In this time period, I'll take the opportunity to live in partnership with Trevor, make future plans, and will also likely travel, which may include a long-distance hike in terrain that may not be suitable for my pup.

Sure, dogs are adaptable and happy just being with their people, but I do feel that in this situation, I may be too transient to consider both our best well-beings to the best extent possible.

Annie is a 6.5 year old black lab mix, with striking honey eyes, and a melt-your-heart disposition. Super sweet and gentle, she's good with kids and most all dogs. She weighs about 65 lbs. She's not a sofa or a bed dog at my house but has been known to take advantage of that opportunity at homes where that behavior is allowed.

What a good situation would look like: Good-hearted, animal-friendly human would take Annie in for a year, and provide adequate outside/inside time for her, as well as entertain some of her most enjoyable activities. Annie is happiest running, walking, or hiking.

She has an annual visit to the Pet Vet on Patton each February. I'd be happy to pay the annual pet bill visit and pay for any necessary meds (like heartworm preventative and flea/tick topicals). She comes well equipped with a leash, a bottle of her own shampoo, back-seat liners for your vehicle, meds through Feb., food/water bowls, and a bag of her “favorite” food to get her started in her new home. She even responds to certain commands (most of the time).

I appreciate your consideration of this e-mail. If you or someone you know could offer Annie a temporary home, please get in touch with me.

Pictures of Annie in her element.

Mantra

I enjoyed a splendid run today at lunch.

I haven't been running much these days - having started a long break from it in early September. Getting started back to the routine is always a bit difficult, mainly fueled by my own fear that I won't be as good as I've been in the past. Negativity taints the triumph of returning to this thing I love so much.

Despite being "gone" for so long from it, today's run felt relatively easy. My lungs struggled a bit with the shift to crisp fall air that has blown in over the last two days but the fluidity of my legs made up for the rest.

Annie, my running companion, stayed closer at my side today - not quite pushing me the way she's generally so inclined to do with her swift-footed four-legged ways.

As I was polishing up a good straightaway, my mind started wandering to other runners better than me and things to change about myself. And, WHAM, just like that my body's immediate response was to throw in the towel. My jog fell to a walk while there was no physical differentiation in what my body was asking for or needing. I walked a bit and considered it all.

I started lifting my feet with more frequency and resumed my running, and I reminded myself to be sure to think of my gratitudes for the day as I ran. I found thankfulness for the yellow flowers (wherever the come from), the steady fall breeze, the sun, the clear blue sky, and MY STRONG BODY, MY STRONG BODY, MY STRONG BODY, MY STRONG BODY, MY STRONG BODY, MY STRONG BODY, MY STRONG BODY (for at least a tenth of a mile) and charging up that last hill was as easy as the speed I'd picked up over that last stretch, too.

This mantra's good enough for me, I hope it works for you.

The Road from Naramata, Part Two

Just a few miles past where we'd awoken, we past vineyards – lots of them. Naramata vineyards were abundant. It was too bad we were very hungry and passing them so early before they opened. Most didn't open until 10, and we were pedaling past at 6. As we past some orchards with ripe apples and pears hanging on the roadway side of the fence, I was tempted to help myself to these gifts on the “public” side of the fence. Ultimately, I thought better of it and continued on with the forward momentum.

As we passed the “Welcome to Penticton” sign we pulled off the shoulder to enjoy the remainder of our rations – a few bites of dark chocolate and nuts. Feeling somewhat more satisfied we traveled on and very soon thereafter met the Trans Canada Trail co-located with the Kettle Valley Railway – which is now a rail-trail. We eagerly took on this wide trail buffered from Naramata Road on our left and the lake down below on our right. The TCT here is situated between walls of agriculture. Being surrounded by so many vineyards and orchards made my heart leap with joy. I couldn't get the grin off my face. The riding was easy, too, making the day before seem so very far away. This blissful riding felt especially rewarding for our forward progress was evident.Before long we were in town. We turned on Main St. and rode until we reached White Spot diner. We grabbed our bags and came in for a big breakfast. During breakfast Trevor talked to his parents and coordinated a pick-up for the afternoon around 4 pm. We would ride as far as we could get, then establish a pick-up location later in the day. I wanted to linger a bit after we ate. It was drizzling outside and I felt sluggish after the big meal. Trevor encouraged, and we picked ourselves and our gear up to go. We stopped at several places in town looking for some place that might sell single rolls of toilet paper and finally met with success on the last of four places we checked. Then we rolled toward the edge of town and picked up the canal toe path to Skaha Lake.

At Skaha Lake we passed through a campground and continued on a path by the shore of the lake. It was beautiful, scenic and easy. I also felt joyful. I wondered how to find enough superlatives for how I felt about the trip by this point in time. The positive energy must have been radiating a half-mile radius in any direction. I felt on top of the world.

We pedaled through the small town of Kaleden and pulled off into Pioneer Park where we got in the lake to wash off a bit. We took some pictures, lounged in the grass, and filled our water bottles before pushing on.

We reached Okanagan Falls and pulled into the Wedge pizza place, ordered 2 10'' pizzas and enjoyed lunch off the saddle. Following lunch I ran across the street to pick up batteries and a pair of sunglasses because I knew we were heading to a portion of our trip that was alongside a highway. I wanted to be sure I had eye protection in case anything was kicked up by the vehicles and reached me on the shoulder.

Departing Okanagan Falls, we went down a residential street for a while before turning on to Sunvalley Way where we visited two wineries – Tangled Vines and Wild Goose wineries. After tastings at both, we purchased a bottle of wine from Tangled Vines and followed the a longer route to return back to the road we had been on earlier, then we dropped down to the highway.Turning left, we rode along a beautiful stretch of highway – certainly the more scenic than I expected. When I think highway, I think narrow lanes, fast traffic, and scars on the landscape left by the “cut” of the land road. On this highway, there was a lakeshore to the right with big rocky mountains on either side of us. Trevor instructed me to keep my eyes out for big horned sheep, but I never saw one.Along the highway we passed another fruit stand. We got two fairly mushy peaches and some cherries. The cherries weren't as good as the ones we'd gotten closer to Kelowna. We pedaled on to another winery. This one is big with a distribution center and everything. We pulled in and gathered our necessary belongings and went inside. There must have been a tasting special in effect. We got four complimentary tastings each instead of two as the sign indicated. Because we had shared tastes, we sampled a total of eight wines there. Surprisingly, the rose tickled my fancy of all of them. Trevor and I found less in common at this winery than we'd found at the others. At this winery we got a call from his folks who were now getting closer. We arranged to meet in Oliver, so Trevor and I pedaled on. This time we were back on a path alongside a river. Most of this path was paved all the way to Oliver. Once there, with a little way-finding with the help of the woman at the visitor's center – we located the proper park to meet up with Trevor's parents. They were napping in the cab of the truck.

Deciding that Ossoyos Lake didn't seem all that far away, and taking advantage of their nap time, Trevor and I decide to push on and to see how far we could make it. The trail surface changed from paved to fine gravel. We kept a good pace though I felt myself more fatigued in this late part of the afternoon. I know I had a lot more energy left in me though because at one point as we passed an orchard, the farmer started spraying his crops. Not keen on being anywhere near the poison he might be using, we pedaled hard and fast (me holding my breath) until we had passed the farm and the wind that pushed the chemicals our way.

We rode within a few miles of Ossoyos Lake when we met up with his parents. We loaded the bikes in the back of the pick-up and got into the extended cab. The drive back was nice, and we stopped for ice cream at a popular spot along the way. We drove on the west side of the lake as we returned to Kelowna, and from my seat I could see most of where we'd come from through the park (see picture of park across the lake).Contented and delighted with our journey, I enjoyed a lavender bath salts soak before dinner and a hard sleep.

The Road to Naramata, Part One

(From our bike packing trip in August 2009)


We got a later start than expected – which should be expected. It tends to be the norm on trips I take. Trevor and I had the bags packed, bikes loaded and adjusted, and were ready to go by about 3:30 pm or so. We pedaled off to the lake and along the shore on the bike path. We passed through City Park, stopping once for a photo, and continuing along the perimeter of the lake, past beaches – lots of beaches.

Fairly near the hospital we stopped at a grocery store to pick up dinner for the night and breakfast for the next morning. We stopped shortly thereafter at the shore at that Trevor labeled a family beach which is also popular among windsurfers. He distinguished it from the kind of nightlife scene found at Gyro beach - with its shallow warm waters and meat market appeal.

We pedaled farther south, away from the city-center on the roads that would lead to Okanagan Mountain Park. A cherry stand along the way beckoned us in and we bought and enjoyed some fresh cherries and took the rest with us for our trip. We past a winery though it was too late in the evening for us to stop in and have a taste. We stopped once more en route to the park at a small beach-front park so I could go for a swim. The water was colder than I would have preferred but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Feeling the pressure of getting to our destination, we hurried off. I had a couple of bike difficulties getting out of the park, then things leveled out as we got on the main road. Everything had felt so great and easy up to this point.

Saddle bags, check
Size and fit of the bike, check
gear-function, check

We entered Okanagan Mountain Park late in the afternoon – into early evening perhaps. It is a steep trail that ascends to Wild Horse Canyon Trail – the trail we would take through the park to exit near Naramata in a day's time.

We pushed our bikes mainly through the park this first night – up the steep trail to the junction with the Wild Horse Canyon Trail. That trail also continued to climb. We followed the terrain. I felt overly tired and somewhat irritable on Sunday night. We cut our journey's nightly destination short (not that we had a destination in mind) and set up camp, overlooking the lake and the twinkling lights of Kelowna. I believe my fatigue and attitude were fueled by dehydration. I drank lots of water – poising myself for many trips out of the tent throughout the night. I also vowed to drink ample water the next day. Sleep was restless and hard for me to find, until after 2 AM. As Trevor asked if I was ready to go, I finally found slumber that wanted to stick around. He took pictures of the moon and I dozed harder. At dawn, we got a spectacular sunrise and an early start.


The trail continued to be rugged and as our distance into the backcountry increased the brush alongside the trail seemed also to compound.

The fires of 2003 burned much of Okanagan Mountain Park. Burned tree skeletons stand and comrades fall daily to the weathers of time, wind, and final deterioration. The fallen trees liter the trail's path. Budget cuts for the park also mean there are no active rangers. We pushed our bikes through thick brush, that sometimes obscured the trail to my eye, and lifted our bikes over downed trees.



Several hours of challenging terrain brought us to the junction with the initial access of a spur trail leading from private property. We would meet two access trails from this property. After passing the first one and continuing to struggle through thick brush, with thorns and briars among the brush tearing at my skin – I made a modest proposal to Trevor. I proposed we bail at the next trail junction and circumnavigate the park, picking up the Kettle Valley Railway and continuing south on it. He didn't bite the bait. In response to my protest about my legs being eaten up by the brush, he offered me his pants that he had packed and he swore (again) that he recalled this trail would open up, widen and flatten. I took him up on the pants and took him on his word. We continued on.

Up to this point the mountain bike packing trip was seeming more like a mountain bike pushing trip, which was more effort and exertion than a similar trip backpacking with feet firmly planted on the ground, gear comfortably attached to the body, and without the rolling caravan of wheels and pedals edging me off the width of the trail. With a steady grasp on doubt about this supposed idilic trail Trevor had talked about, I pushed through brush several minutes after Trevor to find him celebrating a small victory for both of us. We had reached the junction with the second trail that led to and from private property, and the one we were following became delightfully inviting.



We hopped on the bikes for the first significant amount of time since entering the park and enjoyed the ride through the canyon which was mainly downhill and flat – beautiful, too. We had to dismount intermittently still to clear downed trees, but that small inconvenience balanced the ease with which we covered the next 7 miles. Beautiful rock walls flanked both sides of the canyon as we rode further inside. We also saw green ponds, cat tails, bear scat, and a few other bike tracks – evidence that we are not the only ones to have been on this section recently.

At 10:30 we reached the junction with trails leading to Buchan Bay and Comando Bay; this became the lunch destination. We ate the remainder of our dinner supplies from the night before. The basil I'd had bought for the tuna wraps the night before seemed more satisfying, appropriate and fresh when consumed in the woods with cheese and cucumber.



By lunch, I decided that I've had enough time in the saddle while mountain biking now that we've ridden through the canyon to have some perspective on what mountain biking is all about. It's part skill, part holding on, and part prayer. I also discovered that it's harder to fall off than I thought it would be. I'd hit big rocks and brace to myself to be pounced off the bike, but the two of us just kept rolling forward.

From our lunch spot, we were looking at some uphill climbs. As we looked at the park map at the trail junction, I joke that it's up, up, up and more up. Trevor said I have one too many ups in there. Perhaps I do.

We travel what feels like a pretty good distance to Goodes Creek. In actuality it was 3 km (1.8 miles) and I am utterly exhausted. Luckily it has been overcast all day and not as hot as it could have been. I relish the sight of the trail junction and maneuver for a rest stop. Trevor gathers our water vessels and heads down the trail toward the lake to fill them up. My sit-down turns into a lay-down and I listen do loud birds squawk a lot at my presence before I doze off into a brief nap to recharge my energy.


When Trevor returns we give the map at this trail junction a look. Unlike the others we've seen, this one lists distances and estimated travel times for trails and sections. It seems we've gone about 10 miles since entering the park. It has taken us 7 hours – which the map has estimated would take 10 hours. For the next 4.5 km, the sign indicates an estimated travel time of 5 hours. This sign perplexes us a bit by offering that it may take longer than we anticipated to reach the south end of the park.

We reload our bags with full water containers and continue on. Trevor, with his high energy takes on the downhills in the saddle. Feeling less able to maintain control and very tired, I opt to walk my bike down the hill. We go down and up and up and up. My energy continues to drop and there are a few ascents that take me far longer than Trevor. He waits patiently at the top. He encourages me with “you're almost there” as I take a long stall mid-way up a sandy climb.

We ascend again and I stop – body tired – for a break. Trevor scouts off to the side and sees an old road bed. He thinks this might be an unmarked junction with Wildhorse Canyon Trail and a trail that leads up the ridge. We check the map and decide to give it a shot. The trail that was well defined near the junction quickly deteriorates, but we follow creek beds and animal trails diagonally toward water and the southwest corner of the park. Moving becomes more difficult without even a poorly cut back trail to follow. Some of our time is spent way finding – some of it clambering over tangled webs of downed trees or moving around them.

After a necessary snack break of a couple handfuls of nuts, we proceed a ways. Not too long after that stop, Trevor is riding along and gets a flat back tire. Despite having packed all the right tools to replace the inner-tube, he's surprised to find that the back wheel of his bike is not a quick release. After fruitless efforts to loosen the nut and some frustration, Trevor problem-solves his way out of this predicament by patching the holes in his inner-tube while it's still on the rim. We work together to get it patched in four different places, then pumped it up in hopes that it would hold for the remainder of the trip.


We bushwhack with our bikes for a long time. Finally, after cresting a high point, we can see the road we want to take to lead us to Naramata. It's just on the other side of another rocky-faced hillside, over some open rolling terrain, and beside a vineyard. With our destination in sight, moving forward continues to be fruitful. We push.

It's late afternoon and nearing early evening when we get to the rocky-faced hillside. I'm standing beside a lone pine that I'd been using as a landmark and feel disappointed. This hillside had seemed so close to the road when we saw it earlier. Now standing here, it seemed still so far away. While I was crestfallen about the distance the stronger feeling is utter exhaustion. I have pulled, lifted, pushed and heaved that bike and the gear in the paniers for about 12 hours and the muscles in my body are starting to revolt. I'm weak and tired. Standing at the crest, it is also clear that distance isn't the only thing between us and the road – a significant steep, rocky descent is necessary and I know that my body could not control the bike down this section. I tell Trevor we may have to camp here.

Trevor says he can take both bikes down this section. I move under my own effort to hike down without my bike. That alone seems like so much to me. I rest on a rock, feeling sick and a little woozy, while he brings both bikes down one at a time. Once Trevor arrives with the bikes we eat the rest of our staple rations – a granola bar each. I can see from my perch that the private land we're headed toward to reach the road has a fence established on the lake-side of the property. I don't see it on the park side but I already (slightly) anticipate it.

We continue moving south and call “victory” at the edge of the private property before it is visible that the fence is completely encircling it. It's high and it's wired, enclosing a vineyard. We begin walking the perimeter of the fence back toward the hills and away from the lake.

At a large gate, locked with a big chain, I contemplate passing our bikes through. Trevor doesn't offer any opinion on this; he will go with whichever decision I choose – to squeeze through or to continue walking around the fence. I fear that once inside the vineyard we won't be able to get out the other side of the property if it is also gated on the road side. We push onward along the fence line.

Another smaller gate appears and I feel desperate. Just this distance from the last gate to this one was difficult. We are both low on water and nearly out. A motorcycle roars up the road, then a four-wheeler starts cruising through the vineyards turning on sprinklers. I holler at the driver. He is unresponsive – either ignoring me or unable to hear me for his motor. Lingering by the gate, we wait while he is at lower vines, then he returns. I yell again and receive no recognition. He turns and heads away from us. Dejected, we pick up our bikes and continue pushing on. Luckily our movement catches his eye and he turns off his motor and yells to us “hello there.”

“Hello” I return “May we pass through the property?”

“I suppose” he retorts.

Jeff, the foreman for the vineyards was just doing a nightly check of the sprinklers. He found the right key for the gate and let us in and instructed us to follow the road before us up until it turns into pavement. And, just like that the road to Naramata opens before us.

I asked Jeff if we could get some water somewhere. He said to meet him at the office and he could get us some there.

As we pedaled on the dirt road toward the office, we moved smoothly and effortlessly. It was a far cry from the day we'd just been through. Biking again seemed like a reasonable form of movement to me.

It was dusk when we reached the office. We filled about six liters and drank roughly a liter each on site.

We pedaled out of the main gate and on down Naramata Drive, walking our bikes up some of the hills and reaching Chute Branch Rd. after dark (this is where Jeff indicated we would have been walking to if we had continued to follow the fence line). We set up camp beneath a power line as rain that had threatened and sprinkled on us throughout the day set in at a steadier pace. While I didn't feel as though I had a deep sleep, I'm sure I must have slept hard and well. At 5 a.m. We were awake and started moving toward the next part of our journey.