Km 4369
That morning I woke up undecided. A signal that probably I would have a bad day.
I could not decide if I should leave, or wait another day to see if the weather cleared up. I look trough the window of the 44 beds room (yes, 44!) of the whistlers hostel, situated on one of the many mountains that surround jasper, 7 torturous kilometers uphill from the city. The day was dark and rainy, with low and dense clouds, that created an uncomfortable humidity. The weather didn't let me see any mountains, and I new I was surrounded by them. But I was in jasper already for 4 days and it was time to move on. Besides that danina got a lift with 2 other Canadian tourists to Banff, the town on the other end of icefield parkway road, where, we decided to met up again in 3 days.
I put my rain gear on, and left trough the icefield parkway road (highway 93), that the tourist brochures claim to be the most beautiful road in North America.
The 44 dollars that this lady charged me to enter the road (8 dollars per day, including the 4 I spent in jasper,plus the annoying Canadian tax), left me even more frustrated. With that weather the road was like any other Canadian road on a rainy day.
In the afternoon the rain intensified, so I decided to found a place to pitch the tent, doing only 70 km that day.
Next morning I woke up with a beautiful sunshine that would last for the rest of the days I spent in Canada. The difference with a clear blue sky was abysmal; gigantic mountains on either side covered with fresh snow and glaciers, alpine lakes that changed from green turquoise to every kind of green as the sun moved in the sky.
The landscape was too beautiful to describe. Each bend of the road would present me with a more beautiful view that the previous one.
It was 300 km of a gigantic parade of natural beauty. The icefield parkway road crosses the hearth of the Rockies, where one can almost feel its beat, taking me the closest possible to its peaks, without leaving the comfort of the road. It is 300 consecutive kilometers of world heritage declared by UNESCO.
I did 3 considerable passes on this stretch. one at 1890 meters, other at 2049 meters and the other at 2092 meters. The attack to the first pass was very easy and progressive, starting in jasper at 1000 meters and climbing slowly over 70 km.
I climbed the pass next morning with the last 7 km at 8% grade. The downhill is more accentuated and allows for the great views of the valley with the minuscule road at its bottom. One more pass on the same day, the Sunwapta pass, accumulating 1290 meters of vertical climb and ended with 110 km on the counter, in 6h11m at an average of 17.8 km/h, setting up camp by the Mistaya River, with one of the best views so far.
The 3rd day was the hardest of icefield road, only 897 meters of vertical climb, but pushed it to Banff that same day ending up with 134 km in the counter. Lake Louise to Banff was done in only 2h15m (over 30km/h) due to the great tail wind.
I arrived in Banff Saturday night, as promised to Danina, just in time for dinner and a bit of buggy. Banff night life was known throughout the Rockies and I wanted to have a taste of it.
We started with an acceptable Canadian wine for dinner at the backpackers’ hostel, continuing throughout the night doing the round of the local clubs, fueled by some round of shots.
4 days latter fully recovered from the hangover (it was the first time I drunk since I left Portugal) I hit the highway 93 again kissing goodbye to Danina with the promise that we would met up again some where in the states.
Highway 93 goes south trough the kooteney national park, partially burnt by a recent fire. I cycled only 57.6 km that day; camping for free on a closed campground (one of the advantage of traveling off season) not far from the vermillion pass, (1651 meters) one of the dozens of passes that cross the continental divide.
The mountain range that divide the waters on the American continent. The waters originating east of the range end up in the Atlantic, and the waters originating west end up in the pacific. I will cross that "line" many times throughout my trip. My first crossing was in the artic on the north fork pass, in the Dempster highway. Part of Canada and in the states the Rocky Mountains form the continental divide. And for the more adventurous cyclists, is possible to follow the continental divide almost all off road, from the town of Banff in Canada, all the way to El Paso on the Mexican border.
A good program for the A2Z!
Next day highway 93 had a surprise for me. The downhill from the Sinclair pass (1486 meters) revealed a very different landscape; small hills with a mixed forest, exhibiting the beauty of the autumn colors. I've descended about 600 meters and the temperatures climbed to a very pleasant 20/25 degrees at the midday sun.
I've entered the populated valleys near the Rockies, with a micro climate, where the softer autumns are longer.
In this vast country, second biggest only to Russia, but with just a few more inhabitants then Mexico city, 90% of the population live in a belt 300 km north of the American border, from Vancouver in the pacific to the French speak provinces of the Atlantic. It was this belt that I would cross in the next few days until I reached the US border.
I was about 180 km from the border when the chain broke and I had to make a detour to the ugly town of Cranbrooks to replace it. I took the chance to make a revision to the bike, tune the wheels, change the rear brakes and put a new cassette.
2 days latter I was again on highway 93 heading to the border....
The closer I was getting to the border the more negative thoughts I had.
And if they didn't let me in?
I would have to cycle to Vancouver, catch a plane to Mexico, ruining all the plans. The day before I started by deciding which would be my best look.
Since September 11 the American government committed it self to build a "country castle" against any suspicious penetrations, including aliens and cyclists. I've heard innumerous stories of the border officers that regardless of the type of visa on your passport, had the full authority to do what ever they wanted.
I've chosen a quite border, near the Rocky Mountains, with little traffic. But some times that means that the officers had more time to implicate with each individual. My worry was my beard! I had 3 options:
a) leave the beard as it was but that could be an indication of my relation with some Arabic terrorist group.
b) Cut off the beard, but leave the mustache. Option that I rejected straight away because that could reveal an association with Mr Bashar.
Or c) and last option,would be to shave completely. But that would expose my skinny and long face, that all my life, I debated my strong links with my Moorish blood. Besides that, could be taken by a Moroccan terrorist traveling with a fake Portuguese passport.
I've chosen the last one, because, at least I knew that the passport wasn't false.
I went to the local government department of my home town, just a few days before I started this trip, to make a new one. My old one was still valid until 2009, but because it was hand written by an employee of the Portuguese embassy in Atens, Greece, years back, on an emergency situation, it wasn't valid in the states, under the new waiver program.
The waiver program, offers visas for 90 days on arrival, to citizens of an "elite group" of "nice and friendly" countries in which Portugal just join recently.
Every other citizen of this planet, has to queue in one of the most volatile terrorist spots across the globe: American embassies.
The traffic on this part of highway 93 was light, with just some local traffic and the occasional group of motards on road trips, on their loud Harleys.
The building of the frontier was brand new. There were only 3 cars in front of me, and they went trough pretty quick. It was my turn.
-hi
-hi, I replayed.
-how are you today?
- I'm fine, and how are you?
"how are you" and "have a nice day" are 2 expressions in the American English, that I always found a bit irritating, because of the lack of genuity of the people who pronounce it. I listen to them all the time, everywhere, in any situation.
I imagine the number of times each American citizen pronounces them each day, multiplied by 300 million and in unisonous, it would be enough to create an avalanche in a mountain.
-so, where are you going today?
Looking at the bicycle, I felt like saying that, "today", I wasn't going any further then the next forest and pitch my tent. But the officer that actually was very cordial, pointed out that because I've been in the states before (stop over in Seattle, in the beginning of this trip), and left to Canada without an exit stamp, I was entering the states with the same visa which had only 25 days left on it.
Not enough to cross the country by bicycle.
- Please, park your bicycle over there, and go to that building.
I knew it! I should never shave!
They going to start with the interrogations, and bags searching, with no food, or drinks, or be able to call the Portuguese embassy to say that I'm just a simple cyclist crossing the American continent on a 25000 km journey!
And the gasoline bottle of my stove? And the solar panels that my cousin Pedro offered me? And the Portuguese flag that my sister put in my bags?
I don't know!
Anything could be suspicious....
I still fresh memories of my border crossing into Israel from Jordan,in 2000, thru King Hussein Bridge, where I was left in a compartment, only in boxes and t-shirt, until the Israeli authorities convinced themselves that the only reason why I was cycling through the Middle East, was for pure tourism and pleasure.
But this wasn't the Middle East neither Guantanamo bay.
Inside the modern building with some bizarre pieces of decoration, amongst them a fin of a whale to the left of George bush picture, and a fur of an animal to the right, the number of computers outnumbered the number of officers by many.
One of them, the one that wasn't reading the news paper, bombarded me with the usual questions of a border officer, plus some that I found a bit out of context, like: there are mountains in Portugal?
And how did I intend to cross the Panama Canal?
He explained that the waiver program didn't allowed extensions, but due to the circumstances, he was going to make an exception, proving once more, his total authority. He asked me for 7 dollars, that I couldn't figure out if it was for the form I filled out, or for the ink of the stamp, and said: -have a nice day!
Since that moment, I started to believe that the reason Americans repeat unnecessarily, and almost in a religious way:"have a nice day" is because they believe the repetition of the words transform it in reality.
With me it worked that day!
I grabbed the "burra", and kicked of on my first strokes on American soil.
I have entered the USA, but funny enough, it looked like if I was entering the "alentejo" (a region in south of Portugal). The road made its way trough small brown and yellow hills of hay and the air was dry and hot.
After a while I look at the map and realized that I calculated wrong the distances, it was another 30 km to Whitefish. Of course, from now on the distances are in miles...
Montana has funny names, starting with the border town of "eureka", "yaak", "paradise", "pompey's pillar", etc...
But my favorite is: "going to the sun road", that in fact doesn’t go to the sun, but to the ironically called "international peace park".
Tomorrow I will go for a scroll there, to see if I found some "peace" from the traffic of the city…..
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa, in White fish, Montana, USA.
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