Day 2 - Tunnel Station to Cascade Cove 50 km

Discovering the meaning of coal dust

Lying in our tents the previous evening, we could hear what sounded like a waterfall. I thought, Don't tell me we are collecting water in pots and pans and there is a waterfall nearby! The "waterfall" turned out to be Quinn Creek, a kilometer and a half away from our campsite. In the quiet of the mountains the sound had seemed deceivingly close.

We began our day with a continuation of the previous day's climb. A grade of 1.9% sounds like it should be an easy ride. On an unloaded bike, I'm sure you could whiz right up the trail. But it was promising to be another hot day and our bodies hadn't had time to adjust to the demands of the additional weight of our laden trailers. Although most of the trail up to Farron Station was in the shade, I felt guilty that I had to keep asking M.J. for rest stops to catch my breath. I didn't even make excuses anymore. We came to the conclusion that we were definitely carrying too much weight and we began to discuss what items we would send home when we got to Grandforks.

During one of our pauses on the trail, a little humming bird boldly hovered in front of M.J. Attracted by her red shirt, it darted back and forth examining what it had first determined to be a large red flower. It disappeared in a flash—leaving us wondering if we hadn't imagined its delicate little form.

We saw fresh bear scat on the trail and heard huffing noises coming from the bushes. Adrenaline took over and we pedaled fast. I forgot that I was out of breath and we were soon at Farron Station.

The morning shade disappeared. It was getting hot. We slathered ourselves with sunscreen and started downhill towards Christina Lake. We immediately noticed that the downhill grade required a different kind of effort. Negotiating an uneven rocky trail with our loaded bikes as we picked-up speed was nerve racking. The trail was dotted with large rocks that had rolled down from the embankment and required vigilance.

We were tense and our shoulder muscles began to complain. M.J.'s forearms and wrists hurt. She felt uneasy as she didn't have any experience at descending rough terrain. We reversed rolls. I had to slow down and wait for M.J., whereas on the uphill M.J. had to wait for me to take my "photo breaks". My guilt subsided. Our dangling pedal cages continued to cause us problems. We added them to our list of things to ship home.

We started to notice that we were developing a definite "tan". We were slowly turning black. The coal dust from the trail combined with our sweaty sunscreen was giving us the appearance of having been on the trail for much longer than our two days.

We met four middle-aged ladies and their guide on a day outing from Christina Lake. They didn't look very comfortable with the terrain. The ladies eyed us, their expressions not masking their alarm at our appearance. We chatted and the guide said that we should go ahead of them. They would later overtake us as we took yet another "photo opportunity".

Below the trail, we caught glimpses of a sparkling little creek. Although it looked fresh and inviting, we didn't attempt scrambling down the steep embankment to benefit from its cooling effects.

At Paulson Tunnel we met an athletic gentleman in his fifties who had cycled up the trail from Grandforks (45 km). It was about 1 p.m. and we were impressed with his cycling abilities. He was soon off at a fast pace back towards Grandforks.

A peculiar "tan"

It was still hot but storm clouds threatened in the distance. We came to Fife Station at Fife Road and negotiated the slim opening in the fence on either side of the road. Our trailers just squeaked through. The cattle gates just beyond there were a real challenge though. They were the old post and barbed wire type, held in place by a loop of wire at the top and bottom of the gatepost at the side of the opening. We struggled for a long time to get them open, then there was a bigger challenge to get them closed. I added to my bruise collection. The wire loops just wouldn't "stretch" enough to fit back over the gatepost. Over the next few days we would devise gate tactics.

Above Christina Lake, the trail hugs the side of a rockface on one side and drops off sharply on the other side. The surface was rough with a lot of ballast in place. Despite the threatening storm clouds, the afternoon sun reflected off of the rockface and created an oven-like heat. We were glad when a few rain drops fell.

As we approached the trestle spanning the Kettle River beyond Christina Lake, the thunderstorm filled the sky over the hills beyond the bridge. Seen from our vantage point the steel structure seemed huge. A high, long span above the river, it looked even more impressive with the dark clouds and streaks of lightning surrounding it.

We found ourselves in a vulnerable position in an open area. So I suggested that we lay our bikes down, sit with our backs against our Bob bags in the trailer and cover ourselves with my tarp. We settled ourselves quickly and laughed about our situation. We were sitting in the dirt, our bodies covered in grime, contemplating crossing a high, open, unplanked bridge in a thunderstorm. We got the giggles.

Marie-Jacques shows off her trail grime

Except for a few drops, we never did get wet. We enjoyed an impressive lightning show and discussed our "hit list" of items to discard. I was very apprehensive about crossing the bridge. It really did look high. It would be like walking into a void. I made M.J. go first. She was just as unnerved as I was and decided to count the ties to distract us from our fear. Four hundred and thirty-two ties later, I felt relieved to touch solid trail again. I whooped and dubbed myself "Super Gamma".

Across from the campground, the trail where we
contemplated the storm is barely visible

Our arrival at the campground turned a few heads. People wondered how two cyclists could get so filthy. We politely chatted with fellow campers while all we really wanted to do was get our tents set up and find the showers. To our relief, after a good scrub we found that our "tan" was not permanent.

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