To Ahna “Kreegs” MacDonald and Roberta “Squeaky” Maize, Okanagon Level contributors to this trek.  They have kept me in bananas and carrots.  They have sustained me with their goodwill, light-hearts, and generosity.  The Okanagon  does not begin to describe the valleys through which Squeaks and Kreegs have carried me.  They are vast canyons of erosion beneath my wings.  They are the fruit orchards of my tented dreams.  They are the undocumented workers who keep my legs churning at 8 to 12 mph over any terrain.

Ladies, I apologize whole-heartedly that this here blog has not been filled with the kind of salacious debauchery which I know you wantonly desire.  The craven depravity which lurks in your dimly illuminated (but one tepid shaft of sunlight) office/den/lair knows no bounds.  Alas, the risque truths of the road are too hard for the timid ears of your peers.  And too, we must keep it clean for the kiddos.

To Warren Gilles, an Erie Canal Level contributor.  I don’t know if I ever crossed the Erie Canal, but I did pass some sort of canals or canal-like geographical features.  I thank you for your generous gift.  I immediately blew most of the dough on new tires in Saskatoon.  (This is why people *shouldn’t* give me money.  I spend it.)  Although harried on all sides by the demands of his job, his wife, and his teenager, Warren is a great boss, a gentle human being, and an excellent poker player.  I hope he is able to use the last of these traits to extract his contribution from Joe Jones (assuming Joe has enough foolish courage to invite Warren to another poker game).  Warren, it was a pleasure working for and with you, and one way or another I’ll see you again soon.  And, hey, be assured, the secret of your and Sean’s embezzling is safe with me.








Speaking of secrets, to my secret girlfriend, Megan Sykes, a two time West Quody Head Level donor.  This is a crazy amount of generosity and it has completely tainted our relationship.  With some remorse, I opted not to head to West Quody Head.  My legs, more akin to the ivory prosthetic of the captain of the Pequod; my heart, unwilling to chase that white whale, especially with the white winter squalls threatening.  I turned back and down the coast of Maine at Acadia National Park.  And I would be thoroughly satisified with this decision had it not been for the influence of the next, and last, group of donors.  Wherever the vestiges of our relationship lead, it has been fun and I appreciate your support.

To my parents, Roger and Joan Gerdes, six time West Quody Head Level donors. It is my suspicion that you mean well. You supplied me with money when I didn’t need it; you supplied me with second-guessing when I didn’t want it. The former kept me in the warm comfort of motels on many of the cold nights at the end of the trip when I realized I would come in under my budget. The latter kept me inspired to continue when I probably shouldn’t or wouldn’t have, for no better reason than to establish that it is my life to live and my decisions and conclusions alone which give it meaning. To you both, I will undoubtedly forever be obliged.

Native Guides Don and Karen Ryan in Saskatoon

These two native guides, Don and Karen Ryan, cheerfully broke from their morning coffee to guide me first to a local tourist information centre (where the employee cheerfully advised me on the lack of nearby camping options) and then to a local bike shop (where I got a new chain, cassette, and tires).

Gerald from Bike Doctor in Saskatoon

Gerald the sales guy at Bike Doctor in Saskatoon who helped me wade through their trove of tires to find something to my fickle likings.

Dave from Bike Doctor in Saskatoon

Dave, a mechanic at bike doctor, who changed my cassette, installed the new chain, and did the rear tire (but didn’t line up the tire’s label with the valve stem, tsk, tsk). It was definitely worth the money to pay some pros to put the bike in their stand and make these changes. I appreciate them squeezing me in on a busy weekend day. However, lost my 34 tooth rear cog in the process. Saskatchewan is flat so the largest cassette they stock has 32 teeth. Made it through the hills of north Lake Superior with that diminished gearing okay…..so I’m probably fine. Right? Right?

Fraser of Bike Doctor in Saskatoon

O

The very Canadianly-named, Fraser, installed my front tire. He has some sort of mystery power. This is the least blurry photo I could get of him.

Maureen, Seeton, and Tom in Foam Lake

Maureen, Seeton, and Tom from Calgary. We shared a couple of bottles of wine at camp in Foam Lake. (Seeton drank all of under the table. Although we had to keep pre-warming his in a plastic bottle with a rubber nipple.) Great company. Maureen and Tom are both avid cyclists (but not the jerky kind). Maureen works in oil contracts and Tom in physical therapy (in a private medical business…they have that too up here).

They were on their way to Mexico after visiting Maureen’s birthplace in Saskatchewan. Really nice couple. We had a wide-ranging conversation about biking, world politics, things to see, the differences between the US and Canada. Toughest question they posed me, “why isn’t Jimmy Carter more highly thought of in the U.S?” Feel free to take a stab.

Adam from Edmonton riding from Alaska to Argentina to raise money for autism awareness.

Adam is riding to raise money and awareness for autism. His website is www.adventureforautism.com. He’s on a very ambitious trip. Started in Anchorage, and unlike me, is trying to hit every major city he can. He’s headed to the States and ultimately to the far tip of Argentina. That’s a long haul, and he’s already lost his riding partner due to injury.

He rolled up behind me as I was entering Winnipeg. I said, “hey, are you Adam?” He was. I was tipped off. A father and daughter had flagged me down the day before in Portage La Prairie because they were aware of Adam’s quest and thought I might be him.

Rennie, Manitoba

If Rennie, Manitoba knew about Rennie Grossman, I’d think they pull this sign down and put up a bronze statue.

Three days and three hundred miles without a shower.

This is what I look like after three days and three hundred miles without a shower. I’m beginning to get that been out in the sun too long hobo-skin.

Dad and I outside the hotel near Heyden

Dad and I parting outside the motel in Heyden. This was one of about five times over three days when we said goodbye not knowing if we’d be saying goodbye for an extended period or just a couple hours. As it turns out, we did see each other later that day. (The library fiasco in Sault Ste. Marie.) And later that night. (Dad came upon me as I was fixing my seventh, and hopefully final, flat just east of Sault Ste. Marie.) And the next day. (I slept off the road in the woods that night and dad circled back in the car to see if I wanted to use the shower in his motel room in Bruce Mines. Was he trying to tell me something?)

Hinton, Alberta
Edson
Niton Junction
Nojack
Cynthia (Cynthia RV Park & Campground)

Saturday, August 29th, 2009 (69.0 miles)

Cynthia
Drayton Valley
Alsike
Breton
Winfield (Winfields Lions Pioneer Park)

Sunday, August 30th, 2009 (0.0 miles)

Winfield

Monday, August 31st, 2009 (73.3 miles)

Winfield
Village at Pigeon Lake
Falun
Wetaskiwin
Bittern Lake
Camrose (Valleyview Campground)

Tuesday, September 1st, 2009 (74.1 miles)

Camrose
Kinsella
Irma

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009 (72.6 miles)

Irma
Fabyan
Wainwright
ENTER Saskatchewan
Marsden
Neilburg (Museum Campground)

Thursday, September 3rd, 2009 (70.3 miles)

Neilburg
Cut Knife
Battleford
North Battleford

Friday, September 4th, 2009 (66.8 miles)

North Battleford
Denholm
Maymont
Radisson
Langham (Riverview RV Park)

Saturday, September 5th, 2009 (60.1 miles)

Langham
Saskatoon
Clavet
Elstow
Painted Rock Campground (8km west of Colonsay)

Sunday, September 6th, 2009 (44.9 miles, brutal headwinds)

Painted Rock Campground
Colonsay
Viscount
Plunkett
Guernsey
Lanigan (Lions Campground)

Monday, September 7th, 2009 (71.1 miles)

Lanigan
Dafoe
Wynyard
Mozart
Elfros
Leslie
Foam Lake (Foam Lake Campground)

Tuesday, September 8th, 2009 (67.3 miles)

Foam Lake
Sheho
Insinger
Theodore
Springside
Yorkton
Cherrydale Golf Club & Campground

Wednesday, September 9th, 2009 (74.3 miles)

Cherrydale Golf Club
ENTER Manitoba
Roblin
Grandview (Grandview City Park)

Thursday, September 10th, 2009 (82.5 miles)

Grandview
Gilbert Plains
Dauphin
Ste. Rose du Lac
McCreary

Friday, September 11th, 2009 (102.0 miles)

McCreary
Riding Mountain
Neepawa
Gladstone
Woodside
Portage La Prairie (Island Campground)

Saturday, September 12th, 2009 (70.3 miles)

Portage La Prairie
Elie
Winnipeg
Dugald (Dugald Community Center Field)

Sunday, September 13th, 2009 (121.4 miles)

Dugald
Vivian
Ste. Rita
Elma
Rennie
West Hawk Lake
ENTER Ontario
Kenora (Travelodge)

Monday, September 14th, 2009 (16.8 miles)

Kenora
Picnic area a short way outside Kenora

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009 (mileage not recorded)

Outside Kenora
Vermillion Bay
Minnitaki
Oxdrift
Dryden (NW Campground & RV Park)

Wednesday, September 16th, 2009 (90.6 miles)

Dryden
Wabigoon
Dinorwic
Borups Corners
Ignace
(Pipeline right-of-way about 20 miles east of Ignace)

Thursday, September 17th, 2009 (111.4 miles)

Pipeline right-of-way
English River
Upsala
Shabaqua Corners
Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park

Friday, September 18th, 2009 (81.4 miles)

Kakabeka Falls Provincial Park
Thunder Bay
Dorian
(Birchland Tent & RV about 8 miles west of Nipigon)

Saturday, September 19th, 2009 (38.2 miles)

Birchland Tent & RV
Nipgon
Gravel River Motel (about 10 miles west of Rossport)

Sunday, September 20th, 2009 (87.2 miles)

Gravel River Motel
Pays Plat
Schreiber
Terrace Bay
Marathon (Marathon Campground…and mercury dump!)

Monday, September 21st, 2009 (60.1 miles)

Marathon
White River (Continental Motel with dad and Mathieu)

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009 (77.8 miles)

White River
Wawa
(Rabbit Blanket Campground in Lake Superior Provincial Park)

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009 (110.1 miles)

Rabbit Blanket
Heyden (Mountain Ash Motel with dad)

Thursday, September 24th, 2009 (40.0 miles)

Heyden
Sault Ste. Marie
(a few miles outside Sault Ste. Marie on Highway 17)

Friday, September 25th, 2009 (77.8 miles)

Roadside on Highway 17
Desbarats
Bruce Mines
Thessalon
Sowerby
Iron Bridge
Blind River
Algoma Mills
Spragge
(Serpent River Campground)

Saturday, September 26th, 2009 (92.7 miles)

Serpent River Campground
Serpent River
Cutler
Spanish
Walford
Massey
Webbwood
McKerow
Nairn Centre
Whitefish
Naughton
Coniston (empty lot outside Coniston)

Sunday, September 27th, 2009 (73.7 miles)

Coniston
Wahnapitae
Markstay
Hagar
Verner
Sturgeon Falls
North Bay (Northgate Inn)

Monday, September 28th, 2009 (39.2 miles, very challenging winds)

Northbay
Rutherglen
Mattawa (Voyageur Motel)

Tuesday, September 29th, 2009 (0.0 miles)

Mattawa

It is an open question how much longer my bike will hold up. Here’s the problem in order of descending impact:

NUMBER ONE OVERARCHING PROBLEM: I’ve been carrying way too much stuff. (Hello lotsagear guy!)

2. I’ve been carrying too much stuff, too many miles.
3. I probably shouldn’t have let Kulshan Cycles increase the spoke tension on my rear wheel. (Too tight!)
4. Day before yesterday I hit a piece of iron shaped like a 3:4 ratio railroad spike. (It punched a dime-sized hole in my tire, acted like a door stop to the rear wheel, and knocked the wheel seriously out of true.)

I spent a good hour-and-a-half roadside booting the tire and bringing the wheel back into some semblance of true. But this, really, is the least of the problems. There are small stress-fractures developing in the rim around the spoke holes. This means the rim is on its way to inevitable demise, and that it will be harder and harder to hold the wheel true in the process. Basically, it’s got a deep wobble in it, and the now very tight spokes are fighting a losing battle to hold it true while it crouches full of potential energy, waiting to unleash at the next pothole or railroad spike.

The solution? Really, none. Replace the rim, build a new wheel. Very expensive, special order, wait for the build, time consuming.

In the interim, I’ve unloaded everything “extra” from the bike and will just ride this into the ground. What’s the over/under for it surviving? I’d say one day. I’ve got a half-an-hour of riding on it now. So far so good. If it makes a full day in good shape, I’d expect a lot more wear out of it. If it uncoils in the next twenty-four hours, I’ll have to reassess, but I’m probably done.

Alas.

Alack.

Mathieu, my dad, and I spent the night together last night in White River.  Dad is going to drive ahead to Wawa and bike back up to ride a little ways with us.

Got drenched yesterday.  Unbelievably, the first serious rain since the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State.  Some chance of rain again today, but for the moment the skies look clear.

Apparently, I just missed seeing a moose off the road yesterday.  (Mathieu espied it.)  One wonders if I’ll ever see a moose.  *Kicks dust beneath computer*

Just a quick update and now I’m done.  Thank you to Jen’s Place of White River for having such a nice place with internet service.  I highly recommend it.

Aside:  If I sometimes sound like an overly-negative, grumpy, hypercritical observe, you don’t know the half of it.  Bah-humbug!

US-Canadian Border, 1st Attempt

Now, to be fair, an hour of that was me biking back from the border to Oroville and then biking back from Oroville to the border. And another forty-five minutes was spent, combined, in first the Oroville Library trying to locate some affordable health insurance (while fending off the brilliant IMs of Mr. Maxx Fanucci) and second pleading with the nice folks at the Oroville Windemere real-estate agency to please let me use their printer as the one at the library wasn’t working (part was due on Tuesday). And then, well, I probably spent fifteen minutes in line waiting to get rejected from entering Canada, and another twenty waiting in the line back to the U.S. after the Canadians suggested I “withdraw my application for entrance”. So really, I prolly only spent a little bit over two hours in the Canadian border security waiting room.

[I would like to point out here, as an aside, that it took me, and an entire train of other passengers only FOUR hours to cross from Hungary into the Ukraine last summer. Is this a fair comparison? I mean, on one hand, you've got the former Iron Curtain, men with machine guns speaking Russian or Ukrainian, but not the English or German you have, you being the only American on the train, them actually having to physically lift the cars off their carriages to switch them from the western gauge to the eastern gauge, and, on the other, you've got...]

I knew I was off to a bad start when the border guard asked me when was the last time I visited Canada and I said, “Oh, I don’t know, pretty recently…two or three years, actually, I can’t remember, well, maybe, gosh, was it ten years, 1999, geez, wow, I used to come up here all the time, and, wow, ten years.” It immediately got worse when she asked me how long I was going to be in Canada, and whether I had enough money to support myself while I was there, and how much this was, and could I PROVE that I had this money. And then it got worse when she asked me if I had health insurance, and being a basically honest sort who doesn’t have any health insurance (ever since having left my job at the end of July), and also knowing, that I couldn’t prove that I did have it, I said, “no”.

Off to the waiting room with me.

I hoped it might be perfectly cursory.

But, I sensed trouble when I gleaned that the other folks in the waiting room with me were:

• A trucker who had been caught illegally shipping something or other a few months ago.
• A woman and her boyfriend, she with numerous drug convictions and an outstanding warrant of some sort.
• A family of Germans.
• And a kindly middle-aged Albertan woman who had been pulled aside for a “random check”.

After about 45 minutes they let the trucker through, and the Germans, and (after apologetically searching her car) the Albertan.  And they sent me and the convicted felon and her boyfriend back to the U.S.

I think, basically, I caught a border guard on a bad day.  And even though I had showered the night before, I probably looked a little questionable with my hair all akimbo and laundry drying on the back of my bike.  Once the questions about money and health insurance were asked, everything else followed logically therefrom.  I don’t have health insurance.  And if I were to get smushed by a barrelling-0ut-of-control Molson delivery, Canada would end up paying for it.  End of story.

I was, and am, embarrassed.  I was embarrassed, specifically, and most superficially, because both my dad and my arch-conservative friend Russ had cajoled me in the weeks leading up to the trip to get some kind of insurance.  I felt that $450-ish/month ($565 with dental) to continue my insurance from Overlake via COBRA was too expensive.  And I felt that independent policies are valueless.  You pay for them when you don’t need them, and when you do, they wriggle away on pre-existing conditions, retroactive fine print, et al.  I decided I was better off taking my chances with the ER and bankruptcy.

But I was also embarrassed more deeply because here I was having to explain to Canadians, people who do not fret about whether or not they are insured, that I do not have insurance.  I am one of that minority of Americans who by their own shiftlessness, their own decision, bad luck, or bad circumstance does not have insurance.  And it was about to put the kibosh on my plans to trek through Canada.

And so I rode back from the border toward Oroville, tears welling in my eyes.  I had been advised by the U.S. border guard that I would have to go to Wenatchee to find a travel agency in order to get travel insurance.  I was already re-tooling my journey in my head to follow the Northern Tier Route and stay in the United States.

But I went to the library in Oroville, and found some cheap travelers insurance US$135 which would allegedly cover me up to $1,000,000 (as long as I was in Canada, no good in the U.S.) with no deductible (a surprise bonus) until the end of October.

I suspect it is completely valueless.  But I scrambled over to the aforementioned Windemere, and bought that policy, and printed it up, and printed up my bank statements too.  The people in the real estate office were really supportive.  You could tell, whatever their stance on healthcare in our country, that they were gauled that this was preventing me from getting into Canada.

I went back to that border guard.  I showed her my “Certificate of Insurance” (I could have made this in a flash in Publisher, but, again, I’m basically honest), and the withdrawl from my bank account paying for it, and my bank statements to show I had enough money to travel.  (This was still a little dicey.  She wanted me to have $120 per day for each day I was going to be in Canada…which was about three times my budget.  I had to plead that this was really way too much as I was camping and cooking my own food.)

Ultimately, after being questioned by multiple different border officials, warned multiple times not to work, or settle down, or educate myself in Canada, I was given a handsome certificate allowing me to visit Canada until October 15th.  Welcome to Canada  I must remit the certificate before my egress or I will be placed on a list of wanted persons.

Canadian Immigration Certificate

Penultimately, I was given a private little apology and a thank you for my patience by the guard who actually signed the certificate.  The only indication that anyone there, besides myself, thought this was hooey.

Here’s the thing:

I’m wistful for a simpler time between the U.S. and Canada.  Before we needed passports, enhanced IDs, and proof of health insurance to cross one way or another.  Is this really making us safer?  Does this bode well for future efficient border crossing, commerce, and amity?

But here’s the other thing:

Let’s get some damn national healthcare.

I don’t know where this stands right now.  I didn’t even know Ted Kennedy was dead until several days after the fact.  And so it wouldn’t surprise me if the no-healthcare-boat has already left port.  But if it has, well, it will come back to bite us eventually, as more become uninsured, as costs continue to rise, as service continues to decrease, etc.

My thought is this:  If clean water were only available through your employer, would you be afraid to leave your job?  I’d say, yes, you would be afraid.  And while healthcare doesn’t rise to the same basic level of necessity as water, it is close.

While I’d like to think that we’d be more productive if everyone in our country were guaranteed healthcare (we’d spend less as a whole on the stuff, our businesses would be more competitive with places that already have national healthcare, people would be more willing to take crazy risks on new, innovative business ventures because they wouldn’t be terrified of being stuck out there without any coverage), we may not be more productive in any of these ways.  And I don’t care to hang my hat on those particular facts.

Rather, I say, that access to basic, affordable healthcare is not only smart for the national bottomline (I parrot, many other countries do it cheaper with better tangible results), but that it is a basic expectation of a modern, semi-industrialized government.  This is part of the social contract.  We agree to be governed by these institutions.  You agree to provide a baseline of national defense, of justice, of law enforcement, of order, of regulation, of sanitation, and, yes, of healthcare.

Some sort of government option seems best here, only because it heightens competition for the private entitites, and because it has provided the best cost reductions in other countries.  But, unlike the free-marketeers, I’m not dogmatic.  I don’t mind if we go to the German system with all private insurers and strong regulations describing the coverage and costs provided by those insurers.  I’m also not dogmatic in that if whatever proposed solution doesn’t work, I say, try something else.  If the results are bad or expensive (as they are now), try something else.  And if that doesn’t work.  Tweak it.  Try again.

In front of Tourist Information Centre in Osoyoos, BC

And please, don’t leave me embarrassed by my citizenship at any border ever again.

Dad at Coleman Dock

On Tuesday, unbeknownst to me, my dad tried to rejoin me for the bike ride. He called my cell a few times, but I had it off to save batteries (and may not have heard the ring in my bag over the traffic noise of Highway 101 anyhow).

He made a pretty good guess about where I’d be, and so he parked his car at Discovery Bay and biked up to Port Angeles. We must have barely missed one another. I took a detour in Port Angeles to a Taco Bell; and again near Sequim at a country store. My dad detoured a couple times off Highway 101 to the paralleling and more pleasant Old Gardiner Road. We literally must have cycled right past each other.

I got to my damp camp at Sequim Bay State Park, set-up my tent, showered, started to prepare dinner, and opened my phone to a bevy of messages from dad. The last one has him at the Aircrest Motel in Port Angeles (the same dive I had stayed at two nights earlier) about four beers into the evening. Though I would love his company and the beer, I am not going to cycle 17 plus miles back up to Port Angeles that night. So we agree to meet in the morning.

We biked together the next morning to Discovery Bay. The road conditions were lame. Narrow shoulders, high speed traffic, dampness everywhere, too loud to talk. My legs were totally shot, so I struggled to keep up with my dad. I’m hoping though, that trying to keep up was a good thing and will help expand my legs for later in the journey. All the cafes and restaurants along the way were closed. So no breakfast.

But dad did buy me a mocha at an espresso stand, and picked up a jar of extra small oysters for himself (which will be a real treat for him as long as he remembers to take them out of the car as soon as he gets back to Mercer Island).

I didn’t even remember to get a photograph. So I’m posting this one from the Coleman Ferry Terminal in Seattle. It was a short ride together, but I appreciated dad’s effort and the company.

Dad, Megan, and William at Mercer Island

Originally uploaded by monkeychart

Dad, Megan, and I set out early on Sunday. Megan was intending to ride as far as the Coleman ferry dock. Dad was intending to accompany me for a couple days….out to the coast and back.

We were inspired by the good feeling of starting out on this adventure. While we also wanted to avoid the difficulty of having to say good-bye. Megan decided to just ride the ferry across with us. On the other side, why not ride a little farther? Megan would go just ten or twelve miles down the road with us and then turn around. But after ten or twelve miles, Megan was still feeling good. We encouraged her to continue. And she valiantly took up the challenge. Megan would join us overnight in Sequim or Port Angeles.

But at the forty mile mark, after a difficult (wind-y, traffic-y) crossing of the Hood Canal Bridge, Megan was completely out of gas. It was apparent that she couldn’t continue. And, at the same time, she couldn’t go back.

The Kingston-Edmonds ferry was only about ten miles away. If Megan could get to that ferry, then my mom could pick her up on the other side. But I needed to keep going to make Port Angeles by a reasonable hour. And it would have been irresponsible to send a spent Megan back on her own. So we decided that my dad would accompany her back to Kingston.

On that hill above the Hood Canal Bridge, as traffic streamed by, each of us emotionally frayed by our physical exertion, dad, Megan, and I said goodbye.

The first rain for weeks is scheduled for Sunday (with continuing and increasing rain throughout the week). My dad hates riding in the rain. I hate the idea that my shiny, clean bike will immediately be embedded with dirt and grime. Therefore, I am 100% confident that Sunday is the departure date pre-destined by Zeus.

We’ll be riding from Mercer Island to downtown Seattle to catch one of the ferries to Kitsap and from there to Sequim to overnight. My dad doesn’t want to carry gear and he wants to stay in hotels. I guess this makes him a Notlotsofgear Guy. But he’s not a big, fat jerk. He’s actually rather nice. So I stand corrected, already. I’m looking forward to the hotels as a way to ease into the trip. Plus, I need to condition and shakedown gear issues. The trip to the coast will let me do this while still being close to home bases if need be. I expect dad to be with me until we cross back from Port Townsend to Whidbey Island…..maybe as far as Bellingham. We’ll see how it goes.

We’re planning on leaving at 8am Sunday from my parents’ house on Mercer Island. Any and all, please come ride with us as far as Seattle or as far as you dare. Mary, Steve, Nicole, Megan, Matt, Gloria, Tom, Jim, Rennie, Becca, Laura, Ron, Wendy, Jeff, John, Adam, any and all…..this means you! 9822 Mercerwood Drive. Maybe call first….206.232.7584. Or not.