Day 5 - Greenwood to Kettle River Provincial Park 40 km

Just a little rattled

We woke up at 5 a.m. with the intention of getting an early start but we were reluctant to get out of our sleeping bags. It was the first morning that we found it really chilly. M.J. said she had been cold in the night and she lingered in her tent. At breakfast, despite being layered in our fleece and rain jackets, we were chilled and our hands were cold. We started to learn first hand what was meant when the temperature in the area is described as variable. Hot days didn't necessarily bring warm mornings. Neither of us was moving too fast. We finally got underway at close to 7:30.

The trail leaving Greenwood passes the remains of the smelter and the large slag piles from the town's mining days. These strange looking black embankments have not been overtaken by the passage of time. They stand high amongst the trees and houses that dot the hilly terrain, a reminder of a different era. The trains traveling this railbed at turn of the century would have passed a bustling smelter.

The countryside is still green and a morning haze hangs over the wooded hills. We pass small ranches with picturesque buildings. The trail, a downhill grade towards Midway, is an easy pleasant ride. The day starts to warm and we soon peel off our fleece. M.J., an avid horseperson, spots a couple of horses and excitedly stops to call to them. I'm amazed when they trot over to her. She talks to them and scratches their noses. We continue on our way with M.J. all excited over her "horsy encounter".

Early morning light shines on a pretty cabin outside Greenwood

The hills start to open into a large valley; the morning sun accentuating the difference in the the northern facing hills and the southern facing hills. On one side it is dry and golden, on the other side it is green and tree covered.

We arrive in Midway at 9 a.m. We miss the road where we should exit the trail to take us over to the convenience store on the other side of the highway but we spot a path up from the trail.

The old railbed is six or eight feet below the grade at this point and we have to help each other take a run at it. Pushing a bike with a fully loaded trailer up a steep incline is not an easy task but we are slowly getting the hang of it.

 
The contrast in the opposing hills

Despite the early hour we're famished. We've found that our appetites have been increasing steadily. I'm ready to eat every hour whereas M.J. eats huge amounts at each meal. She amazes me with what she can eat. We decide to treat ourselves to milkshakes.

Sitting sipping our cold drinks, I remark on the condition of my legs. I can't tell the trail grime from the bruises. I surmise that as the days wear on that my sunscreen will ultimately have an effect similar to one of those instant tanning creams. Despite my earlier success with a scrub in the shower, I'm convinced that I will ultimately have a "permanent" change in skin tone.

We finish our treat and when I go to the cash to pay for a couple of items for our lunch, the woman says, "Be careful out there." I laugh and say, "Well, we shouldn't have to worry about bears out there in the open valley." She says, "No, but there are rattle snakes." Oh, ooh, ooooh! I recount the warning to M.J. as we gingerly pick our way back over the weedy path that we originally zipped across on our way to the store.

After we start out, my stomach feels queasy. I'm not sure whether it's because I'm rattled over the idea of rattlers or that a milkshake at 9 a.m. is a little rich for my stomach. I bravely dismiss the former.

Later that morning we are stopped just before a gate having a little break in the shade. Two cyclists approach from the direction we just came from. The girl has a loaded bike with panniers and the guy is pulling a Bob trailer. They are the first cyclists we have seen that are traveling as we are. I pop up and open the gate for them so that they don't have to struggle with it. We say hello.

He's tall and muscular, and she's petite but athletic looking. They say hello with a thank-you for opening the gate but they seem to be in a hurry and they don't stop for conversation. They are quickly down the trail. I remark to M.J. that they can't have been on the trail long. Their bags look much too clean as I point to our dust covered trailers. Our Bob bags are now so dirty that they are no longer of interest to bees or wasps.

Giving my bike a rest

Trail etiquette!

We have a pleasant lunch along the banks of the Kettle River. The river is not very deep at this point but it still has a strong current. Although a swim is tempting, we opt only to cool our feet in the water before continuing.

As we approach Rock Creek the trail peters out and we find ourselves riding along the edge of an agricultural field. We can see from the tracks in the dirt that other cyclists have used the same route. The field has been turned over and it is very uneven and bumpy. When we exit the field there is a trail sign by the gate. As far as we could tell we were on the trail. It was just another example of the varied riding conditions that we would encounter.

When we arrive in Rock Creek it's early afternoon and it is very hot—again. I'm reluctant to continue riding during the hottest part of the day. So we treat ourselves to some very delicious cheese sticks from the bakery counter and we spend some time sitting in the few inches of shade that we find by the store.

Regaining the trail outside Rock Creek, we find it to be loose and sandy. Not the preferred surface to cycle at the end of the day when you are tired! We cross a pretty bridge over the Kettle River and enter the Provincial Park. The attendant tells us that the campground is full but that we can can camp in the group area.

The group camping area is in a forest of pines close to the river. The trees are tall and the ground is carpeted with dry grass. There is a very nice large shelter with several picnic tables. It's equipped with a counter and a kitchen sink. There are about eight families camping together on one side of the area. We both agree that this is a beautiful, open, airy spot compared to the smaller spaces in the regular camping area. We set up camp not too far from the shelter.

The day is still hot and we go down to the beach beside the bridge. I indulge in a fully clothed swim in the river, a bath and laundry all in one. The current is strong here as well. I have to paddle hard not to be swept downstream.

While we are busying ourselves with camp chores, we are visited by several chipmunks. They scurry around and we have to be careful to shoo them away when they get too close. We make sure that we keep the food tightly wrapped up. We decide to go to bed at about 7 p.m. so that we can get up as early as possible in the morning. We intend to get up at 4:30 a.m. so that we can enjoy our ride in the cooler part of the day.

As we are preparing for bed the group of families arrive at the picnic shelter to make supper. Ah, herein lies the drawback to camping in the group area. The families are following a perfectly normal camping routine. They have spent as much time as possible enjoying the sunny day and now they're preparing a late supper.

I walk over to the shelter under the pretense of using the sink. One of the gentlemen starts to chat. We talk about the hot weather and I casually mention the fact that we have an early start in the morning to avoid the heat, so we have to turn in early. If the subtle hint registered, he doesn't give any indication. I return to my tent.

Installed in my tent after a near disaster when I spill a water bottle, I can hear scurrying outside. I ask M.J. if she hears noises. She thinks its the chipmunks. I hope that they are not so bold as to try and get into our tents. One hasn't had a true camping experience until they have camped in the cramped space of a one-person tent; all the while listening for the rustling of little creatures that are contemplating a late night invasion.

The rustling noises subside to be replaced by an increasing tempo from the shelter. It sounds like all family members are now in attendance and they are engaged in loud conversation. I lie staring up at the damp laundry strung above me in the tent then roll over and try to sleep. With a Pavlov reaction, my stomach starts to succumb to the supper sounds from our neighbours.

The mealtime banter continues. M.J. pipes up from her tent, "I'm starting a new list... It's things to buy when we get to Penticton. The first thing is earplugs!" Finally, I start to hear "Who wants another hot dog? We have some more over here!" By this time, I'm ready to get out of my tent, go over and offer to eat a few "dogs" to speed up their departure from the shelter. Their lingering sounds diminish and I fall asleep hungry.

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