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
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