Party for the "special children" (Canada)

Ola amigos lusos,

Acabei de fazer a "icefield parkway road". A etapa mais espetacular ate ao momento, como podem ver nas fotos do ultimo album, se e que fazem alguma justica a lindissima paizagem das "rocky mountains".

Foram mais 280 kms pedalados pelas criancas da APPC.

Um dos patrocionadores desta viagem, a discoteca Alibi, em colaboracao com a APPC, vai realizar uma festa de apoio as criancas especiais do centro da APPC de leiria, ja nesta proxima sexta feira, dia 29 de setembro.
Uma boa opoturnidade para voces poderem colaborar para esta nobre causa e ao mesmo tempo divertirem-se.Parte da receita da noite vai directamente para a associacao.
A discoteca encontra-se no centro comercial maringa, no centro da cidade.

Bebam um copo por mim.....

Hi guys,
just finnished the icefields parkway road. The most spetacular road until now, as you can see in the new album in the photo gallery,if the photos make it any justice....

another 280 km ride for the special chldren of the "APPC"

Just in case you are in Portugal this week, and around Leiria, my home town, one of this trip sponsors, the Alibi club, is putting up a night dedicated to them. Its already this friday the 29th of september and part of the evening revenue goes straight to the association.
The club is located inside the "maringa" shopping center,in downtown Leiria.
A good oputurnity to help the "special children" and have fun at the same time.

Have a drink on me....

Yellowhead it to the Rockies (Canada)

Day 50 Km 3486


Travelling by bycicle everything is unexpected.
one never knows whats around the next curve; a beautiful landscape, a mountain to climb, a puncture or an unexpected encounter. What appened to me the day I left Smithers, was in fact unexpected.
I left late that morning, it was around 11am. It was a beautifull day, high clouds, but sunny, and a soft brease from norhtwest,easyed the ride. I just talked with my parents over the phone, and that iluminated my day.
The Yellowhead highway, conects the pacific coast with the provinces of inland canada, it crosses heavely florested areas, and by the road, I could see some ranches with green fields, cows and horses. The first ones I saw, since I left Inuvik.
The landscape was changing since I left the Cassiar, the human presence was more evident.
I had just done about 40 km, when a pick up truck, over takes me and pull over a few meters away. out of it came a strong and tall man, in shorts, coulourfull shirt and a big smille on his face. At first, I thought it was the campground attendent from Smithers, that found out I left without pay the last night, and came looking for me.
I had an excuse formulated already, in fact was the true; I had look for him everywhere the previous day and that morning too. He was nowhere to be found, so I left him a message on his door saying: " looked for you everywhere. I'm i the Yellowhead'n east. The Portuguese cyclist" After all the tall man with a beard face, was Paul, a dentist from Huston, the next village, 30 km away.
After a small talk, he invited me to stay the night at his house, giving me a card with a number to call, when I arrive in Huston.
3 hours later, I was in his garage, that looked more like a bycicle workshop, cleaning up the 'Kona Fire Mountain'.
Paul had a big laught, when he was cleaning the chain of the bike, and I told him, that I've been using olive oil. I should have explained that, olive oil, like rice in India,or coconut in the caribbean, is a multi-function ingridient much used in the mediteranean.
That night at the dinner table, with Gheri, his wife, Alli Dani and Jo, his 3 daughters, we spoke with entusiasm about wich areas I should visit, and about bike touring in general, something that the all family are 'aficionados'. By the time desert came, Paul diverted the conversation to the alpine pine beetle....
Another effect of the global warming, that is topic of conversation in BC, from the dinner table to parlamentary sessions. The alpine pine beetle, atacks the trees, cutting the flux of water and nutrients, the leaves turn red, and at a later stage dies... It's necessary cold winters with temperatures well below 0, to kill the lavae. The mild winters of the last few years, allowed mortality rates as low as 10%, insted of the usual 80%, sesultinfg in a explosion of the beetle population.
The days that followed this dinner, I observed with more attention the pine forests, realising that the red patches, that I been seen since the Yukon, wheren't part of the autum coulours, as I inicialy thought, but a result of this epidemic that afects mostly the provinces of the Yukon and BC, and tretens to expand east, beyond the rocky mountains. The rest of the evening, was spent looking at maps of North America, and trying to make up the best itinerary for me. Everyone was unaminus, including Jo, the youngest daughter, that I should follow the pacific coast through Oregan and California, because it would be too cold in the american rockies, once I get there.
On the next morning, Gheri prepered me some snaks, and Paul a small bottle of oil for the chain, that he garanteed me, it would work better then olive oil, in the rocky mountains.
I said good bye to the Comparelii family and to this unexpected suprise, and continued my journey.
I had done only 10 km, when I met Kathy and David, the only cyclists I saw on this strech of 807 km between Smithers and Jasper.
Kathy and David are from Seatlle, they left the children with someone and dicided to tour the brithish colombia for a month, and because they travelled much faster then me, doing 150 km per day average, I only saw them that day.
What they didn't know, was that destiny, had a suprise for them.
The 2 days that followed on the way to Prince George, I had a strong tail wind, I took advantage of it, to add up kms; 127 in one day, and 146 in the next, setting up camp at 5pm and 5.30pm, respectevly.
Prince George is a big and modern town, and the plant on the east side spread its vapours everywere, so I dicided to push a bit further that day. But before went into town to buy a new sleeping bag, leaving the old one with a drunken native couple that where sitting on a bench in the library gardens.
Alcoolism is a problem amoughst the native comunities.I've been observing it since I've left Inuvik.
Traped betewn 2 societies, where they don't identify intirely with either, they leave with a nostalgic past, long gone, and are not acepted in full in the modern canadian society, resulting in problems like alcoolism and unemployment.
My new sleeping bag is much bigger then the old one, and it doesn't fit inside my bags. I have to transport it on top of the rack, next to my tent. But with just over a kilo and comfort temperature of -7, is just what I need for the rockies.
It was worth every one of the 79 dollares, right on the second day, when the temperature of the spot I found to camp, next to the Holmes river, went down to -2.
That afternoon, before I started to look for a place to spend the night, another car over takes me, and stops a few meters ahead. It was Kathy and David.
Kathy crashed on a downhill on her own., and after a visit to the hospital in Prince George, they dicided to store their bikes on the back of a rented car.
They showed me her helmet broken in 3 parts, and David insisted in offering me his.
My Fidel's hat, moved to the bags, for the moment, and in fact I fell better riding with a helmet. On this last stretch of my journey through the Yellowhead Highway, I've crossed all the BC, from west to east, climbing the rockies at it's lowest pass, the yellowhead pass( 1159 metres) and arrived yesterday at this small mountain resort town of Jasper, already in the Alberta province.
The jewel of the crown in the canadian mountains. This gigantic mountain chain, that stretches from the north of Canada, all the way to the Mexican border.
Waiting for Danina, at the moment, an old friend from Autralia, that live in Wistler and is arriving tomorow.
Our lives have been crossing each other, over the years. First in portugal, on a summer holidays when I first met her, then in london years later, again last year here in Canada, and once again tomorow, here in the rocky mountains.
From here I will follow the rockies into the United States, first riding the icefield parkway road to Banff, and then beyond into the south of Montana or until the weather permites it.
Once again the Elements, always present, in the built up of this journey to the land of fire......


Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, em Jasper, Alberta, Canada.

Stewart&Cassiar highway (Canada)

Crossing the 60th parallel that passes over Watson lake, made me feel 'more south' for some reason, even if I was still in the remote area of the north of British Colombia. We disarmed the tents from the garden of the lady that works at the tourist information centre, that very cordial, offered her garden, when we asked a recommendation of a place to stay, and left into the Cassiar Highway. The Cassiar Highway is a remote road that links the coastal centre of British Colombia with the Yukon. It crosses beautiful valleys with mountains already covered with the first snow of the season.

The first part of the highway was a bit...wet!!
It started to rain on the second day afternoon, I was about to reach the km2000. We stopped to put our raining gear; gore-Tex jacket, poncho over it, sun glasses to give visibility, water proof trousers and two plastic bags over my shoes. "Country Harvest" is a brand of sliced bread that I like to buy. Wheat bread with raisins and Cinnamon flavour. not bad in taste, have 70 calories each slice and came in a plastic bag size 43 (e.u.) that fits perfectly in my shoes. Tied between the socks with the water proof trousers over it. They are light, disposable and free. Another hard and wet day. Half way trough the day, I had a puncture. The first one of the trip after 2208 km. I've changed the inner tube and put 2 patches on the tire, that was starting to open up on the sides, and continued cycling It rained all day and the strong wind coming from south didn't stop blowing, and the humidity went right trough into my bones. Our objective that day was to reach John's house at Bob Quinn, the highway maintenance camp. It would be a 100 km stretch, we had no alternative. Camping with that weather it would mean to have a miserable night. The wind was blowing hard and the cold rain didn't let me enjoy the beautiful landscape of the Cassiar highway.

My eyes where only focused on a5 meter triangle of asphalt in front of me. My mind was travelling much further south, in the warm beaches of a sunny Mexico.John's house was just a few miles Way, when another blast brings my mind back to the cold wet and windy road of British Colombia
BANG !!
In a fraction of a second the rim of the back wheel touches the asphalt. I didn't even needed to break at the slow speed I was going. I screamed at Bruno, but the wind sent it back to me What a day!!! not one puncture, not two. But two blats, wind, cold and rain, all mixed up like if it was the reaction of a bad karma of one of my previous lives.
The first tough that came to my mind was to lit up a cigarette. I took off the bags, turned the bike around and pulled the wheel off. the tire had opened in a different place. A car passed by, I waved at the driver to stop.not only he didn't stop, but also projected a jet of muddy water into my trousers. For the first time on this journey I lost the straight. some time after, Bruno showed up, another car passes by, this one stopped and offered help. We put our bikes on the pick up and reached John's house in just a few minutes.
John's house was one of the 6 or 7 houses, built by the Canadian government for the highway workers. apart from free accommodation and health care they had 27 Dollars an hour. there was no one in the house, john was enjoying his annual holidays, working on his private business, a motel in Iskut, where the rain made us stop for a couple of days.
He bought it for 150.000 dollars, very cheap, he said, but with the very little traffic didn't give him much money. After an excellent shower and a comfort dinner, I observed the tire with more attention. It was opening all over the place there was nothing I could do.
I regretted deeply for leaving my extra tire with Susie, days before, at Boya
lake.

I decided that I would hitchhike my way to the next village, buy a tire, and
came back. with luck it would take me 2 days.
Next morning I had a scroll trough the camp in the hope to find a more feasible solution. In one of the houses, there was a lady of around 50 years old, with the skin of her face aged by the many lonely coffees and cigarettes taken in front to
the TV. I explained my problem. she said to try my luck in the backyard of the
house.In the middle of the old rubbish, truck tires, old pieces of furniture and
rusty parts of household I found a mountain bike tire!! 2 coffees after and a bit of conversation, I left her 15 dollars in appreciation, and carry on my journey south..
Nothing like a miserable day of rain, to give valor to a hot and sunny day my luck was changing, so was the landscape, we descended into the valleys ,the temperatures raised a bit, and the mountains with the tops covered with fresh snow followed us all day. Before we started our descend I adjusted my altitude with a sign on the side of the road.. I had 120 meters difference. Good news. A high pressure was on it's way.
The next day I wake up with Bruno shouting: Nuno, come here.-He said,I want you to meet someone.
-someone?
I thought we camped in the middle of nowhere.
And we had, but on the side of the road.

The beautifully landscape of the Cassiar, the little traffic and the remoteness of the road are all good reasons to attract touring cyclists. Bruno was talking with another cyclist. But this one was different from the others we met before.
Randolph was a German cyclist, already on his 4th round the world trip. 14 years on the road. Almost recovered from a cancer and an accident in Argentina, that left him in the hospital bed for 4 years, Randolph was determined to break his own record of the Guinness book, as the cyclist that travelled more days in temperatures below 0.
we where heading south to runway from the winter, and this crazy rider was heading north in search of it!
This time he was equipped with 4 skies, made by himself, and set up on the sides of the bicycle, he carried with him, schwable tires with spikes for the snow, and just incase he run out of energy, he had 3 dogs huskies with him, to push him in the snow.
Around the world within his own, and in search of his memory.
we arrived late that day at Meziadin junction, where we camped by it's beautifully lake. The forest reflected it's own beauty on the placid waters of the lake.
The next day ride, from there to the small village of Stewart, in the border with
Alaska, was a very beautifully one. Green mountains with glaciers hanging on its cliffs, wild rivers and water falls everywhere, and of course bears!
The counting goes at 11, since I left Inuvik.
The communities of Stewart( 600 inhabitants) and Hyder (90 inhabitants), are set at the end of the sea channel of Portland. One of the many channels that make up the Alaskan "misty fjords" . the communities are also surrounded by high coastal mountains, with glaciers that make part of the Cambrian icefields. The main reason we made this 65 km detour, was to have a closer look at the spawning of the salmons.

One of the many wonders of the Mother Nature. The end of a life cycle of 4 or 5 years, that terminates with the dead of the fish at the right place at the right time. After spending their adult lives roaming the high seas they start their arduous journey up streams until they found the exact place where they born, releasing millions of eggs and die of exhaustion.
Next morning , we did again the 65 km, from Stewart to Meziadin junction, where we continued our journey south through the Cassiar.One more day on the road, and the tire that I found in the dump at Bob Quinn, started to "look" tired.... One more puncture and a few more patches in the tire. This time in the form of a plastic glove, involved around the inner tube.

I put the books and other heavy stuff in the front bags, and Bruno carried my tent on top of his already heavy load. But half way through the day, the old tire refuses to carry me any further. This was the last day we travelled together, and we didn't plan to say good bye like this. At the end of the Cassiar, Bruno would head west to prince Rupert, where a ferry would take him to Vancouver island. And me, I would turn east to the interior of the British Colombia on my way to the rocky mountains. With the next house at the native settlement of kitwanga , 70 km south, I had no other choice, but to hitchhike my way to the next bicycle shop. We exchanged addresses right there on the road. Bruno gave me a few pieces of equipment, purification tablets, a Swiss army knife and an excellent cycling poncho and promised to donate some money to my cause, the APPC leiria. The forest guard that gave me a lift dropped me right in front of the bicycle shop in Smithers, where I bought the best tire in the shop a Schwalbe marathon plus.
It was 2 weeks of excellent friendship.
Bruno was a great travel companion and a truly inspiration for this journey
through the pan American highway.....

Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
in smithers, BC CAnada

Alaska highway to Watson Lake (Canada)

Watson Lake km 1834

The Robert Service campground in Whitehorse is an excellent place to meet other travellers, essential, not only for the fun of it, but also to built up your itinerary with the exchange of information and travel experiences. Under the shelter by the camp fire was Edward, a beer bellied Australian from Waga Waga.From where?-I've asked again
- Waga Waga, he said, with a voice that sounded like he is used with been asked twice. Waga Waga is a small town some where on the Australian outback, and Edward came to Canada to work on the oil fields of Alberta.He told me, as he sipped his beer by the fire.
On the campground was also Tim, an American from Missouri that drove to the Yukon to do some canoe.He planed to canoe 350 kms from Carmacks to Dawson City in a week, he told me, with his baseball cap on his head. Why do Americans use the cap all the time, even when is not needed?.It was 10.30 Pm!For him it was going to be a life time adventure, and he was anxious to go back home and tell the stories to his friends of the trip he hasn't even started. He declared his gun without ammunition at the Canadian customs, saying it was for self defence against bears. He didn't showed me the gun but told me in detail how he would use it in case he sees one, articulating his arms as if he had it with him. Not even on holidays can they travel without it?Do they feel more venerable without them?In fact I think you are more at risk in the nature with one, because you let yourself came closer to danger situations as your sense of security increases by carring a gun.
Late on that afternoon a couple of suisse bikers arrived at the camp.Valery and Tony ,where seasoned cyclist who previously done several bike trips but this time riding only in north America and Mexico. They invited me for a coffee at their tent.
Next to it was another cyclist; a Japanese guy that I can't remember the name. He was starting his trip there and wanted to cycle to Vancouver. He spoke little English and spend the time moving his brand new equipment around and at the same time articulating some words in broken English that no one understood.When I got up next day he was gone.

Looking after all of us, was the gorgeous Stephanie, with her tight top that read: "I love Yukon". Stephanie was from Quebec and was spending her summer holidays working as a receptionist in the campground.
The young Bruno was another cyclist. A suisse retired with 64 years old, complaining about the ligaments of his legs and pain in the ass.. He has cycled over 1000 kms from Anchorage in Alaska to Whitehorse under strong pain, and was heading south, like me.He had gone to the hospital that morning and was decided to continue his journey to Vancouver under the effect of medicine and his determination.
He invited me to ride south trough the Cassiar highway. I said yes. We would travel in 2 days.

The next day I had thoughts of changing my mind.
Why on earth would I want to cycle with a 64 old retired suisse cyclist with problems on his ligaments and a sore ass?Next day, just before lunch time he appeared in my tent with his hybrid bicycle, with such an heavy load that I wondered how he managed to cycle till there.But the young Bruno was terminated. He had a wind prove jacket with all the colours of the rainbow, big sun glasses and a helmet on his head. On the right side of his hand bar he had 2 suisse bells, that for sure, would keep the bears at bay. his front bags where so lifted up, because of the suspension, that I wondered if he could keep a good equilibrium.
On our second day trough the Alaska Highway we where caught with front wind, strong at times. We cycled with the bikes next to each other alternating leadership to save energies. At least the landscape was nicer then the Klondike Highway, and even been the main Highway on the province of the Yukon, the traffic was light.A big part of it was R.V. ( receational vehicles ). Mobile homes that could vary in size and shape, from square boxes on top of a pick up van to semi trailers with bicycles, bikes, canoes, jeeps, all attached to it somehow. When parked they would take the space equivalent to 3 cars. With noisy generators ond air conditioned. And its occupiers, mainly retired Americans, spent their time watching American soap operas via satellite, and eating pop corn made on the microwave, or eating muffins with diet coke.
Commodities of a society of consumption.
It was a hard day and I was worried with Bruno's ligaments. At the end of the day we found a place to camp, prepared a generous meal and relaxed the muscles to the sound of a music session.Bruno, "o cota radical" (the old sports radical man),as I like to think of him, is from a rare breed. A man with determination. It wouldn't be a pain in his legs that would stop him to reach his goals.

I was watching him playing his harmonica and look at him as a source of inspiration for my journey. Bicicle travel doesn't chose age or fisical conditions. the will power and determination will take you almost anywhere.
Cycling along the Alaska highway, we came across another cycling couple. 2 dutch on their koga Miyatas , a bike of cult for long journeys. They had came all the way from Ushuaia, Argentina, my final destination. It was an opportunity for me to bombard them with questions about just everything. When I asked them about the durien gap, that I intend to cross.The only part of the Pan American Highway that is interrupt by 200 kms of jungle between Panama and Colombia, their answer was: 70 people just been kidnapped a few weeks ago by the Colombian guerrillas. Crossing the border by boat my be a more feasible option.

We managed to do 447 km from Whitehorse to Watson lake in 5 days with good average speed and partnership.We arrived today at Watson Lake, town that would go unnoticed if it was not for it's 'signs forest'. 54000 traffic signs are exposed in a labyrinth where in case you get lost, I'm sure you will find a sign saying "exit".The signs came from across the globe, and just for the sake of it, I've offered 20 bucks to Bruno if he founds one coming from Portugal.
Those signs are brought here by people traveling in Canada, and I suppose they know about this 'sign forest' in advance. I imagine them dismounting them in the middle of the night in their home towns, stealing 30 pounds of metal ( some are enormous) . putting them on theirs R.V.'s and drop them in this town in the middle of all this wilderness landscape.
It must give those retirees some sort of pleasure.

I had just finished to read the sign saying: "George Peterson quality meats, just up ahead", when I hear Bruno shouting:-I give up.Can't found any sign from Portugal.
tomorrow we will travel south trough the Cassiar Highway. It will around 800 kms trough an isolated part of British Columbia, only with a few villages signaled on the map. And, as I'm getting used to, most of them are no more then a motel a restaurant and a petrol station.
But before I go, I wanna leave a sign of my own on the 'sign forest' saying: APPC LEIRIA.Nuno

Nuno brilhante Pedrosa, in Watson Lake, Yukon, Canada