Day 12 - Link Lake to Princeton Castle Resort 44 km

Getting to the castle without the booty

From my tent I peer out to a grey, cold morning. The rain has stopped. The trees have a sodden appearance. We are not in a hurry to get moving. As I lift the soggy flap of my tent, little beads of water converge into rivulets that run down onto the ground.

The early morning light has not yet risen over the surrounding mountains. The lake is truly beautiful; heavy mist floats above the water. Already chilled, I decided to make a quick trip to wash up before I take a picture.

Beside the campground office, there's an assortment of bird feeders. Several dozen small birds are chirping and twittering as they help themselves to the enticing selection. As I approach, the crunching of my shoes on the gravel path startles them; they flutter and hover a short distance away before they return to the feeders. A duck family, complete with mama, papa and little ducklings have wandered up from the lake to sample the abundant leftovers on the ground. The temperature on the face of a large round thermometer mounted near the feeders reads a chilly 2°C.

Returning to our campsite, I find that M.J. is still hibernating. I try to coax her out with my description of the sun rising on the lake. Despite her new added layer of clothing, she has endured another cold night. She's not budging for the moment. Well, I think to myself, there is some use for those extra pounds one seems to gain in middle age. They keep you warmer. Slim M.J. needs a little more meat on her.

The early morning landscape has already changed. The sun is now peeking over the ridge of the mountain, painting the lake with a misty reflection of the trees on the mirror-like surface.

The early morning view changes within minutes

It is really cold and damp. The coldest morning so far. We have all our layers on, including our hats and gloves. In addition, M.J. is wearing a neck warmer and her rain booties. We still feel chilled. It doesn't look like it's going to be a hot day, so we don't feel the need for an early start. We take our time over breakfast and loading our bikes.

The Bankeir store is a couple of kilometers down the trail. I suggest that we stop to get a hot drink. Just to be indoors for a few minutes should warm us. When we leave, the other cyclists are just getting up; we don't get an opportunity to chat with them.

We arrive at the store at 8:35; the sign says that they open at 9:00. We opt to wait. It will be nice to get out of the cold for a little while. On the porch of the store there's a large table which holds an assortment of books and magazines. Some of them are old dog eared novels and some of them look newer. Sifting through the jumble, we each pick something to read.

Perched on the outdoor picnic tables, we wait patiently reading our novels. The minutes tick by slowly. A red and white sign on the front of the store catches my eye. Rather official looking it reads "60 minute parking for City Hall and Library" Oh-Oh, we have just checked two books out of the local library.

Nine o'clock comes and goes. The store is still closed. Other patrons drive up; now they too are waiting. A couple on a tandem ride up. The crowd is growing and the store is still closed. We debate whether we should simply continue on our way. We opt to wait a little longer— they should be open soon...

Finally about 9:20, two women arrive to open the store. The crowd files in. We don't bother to ask about the delay in opening; we're just happy to be sitting indoors in the warm café. M.J. orders a full breakfast, I have other cravings and I request a cheeseburger. While we are waiting for our meal, we chat with the couple that arrived on the tandem.

They started their cycling trip the previous day in Tulameen a distance of about 65 km, most of which was uphill. They didn't realize that the trail could be so sandy. It was a very long, hard first day for them. As usual, we pass on information about the trail heading east. I think to myself I'm sure glad that we've planned more manageable days. With the cooler weather, we can relax and take our time. I'm also thankful that since we are heading west that we will be on a downhill grade today.

As we head down the trail, I realize that we still have the books that we had been reading. I'm sure that the "librarian" won't mind a long-term loan. The next time we are back this way, we'll be sure to return them.

Dense forest edges each side of the trail. The sun is shining but in the deep shade of the forest the air is still cool. Slowly we start to warm up and are able to shed some of our layers. At Erris tunnel I suggest a break. Where the trail widens beside the tunnel, I lay down my tarp and stretch out. M.J. joins me. We enjoy the warmth of the midday sun. Soon M.J. is asleep.

After a short while, I wander off to a discreet distance to use the facilities. Suddenly, I hear M.J. repeatedly calling my name. She sounds a little panicky. "I'm just over here," I reply. I quickly return to see what the problem is. M.J. is now sitting up. She pretends to pout, her voice childlike "I was snoring and I woke myself up... I... I thought that the noise was a bear... and I looked around and you were gone..." We start to giggle.

Marie-Jacques is "bearly" asleep

We were lucky that it wasn't a bear. Our jangling bear bells have now become background noise to us; only on occasion do I become aware of their sound. Perhaps we have become a little too complacent about the possibility of encountering a bear. Papa or mama bear may not be too happy to find two cyclists sleeping near their bed...

The trail gets sandier as it crosses several areas of high fill. We start to get glimpses of ranch land below us in the valley. Dogs bark in the distance. Soon we hear some kind of motorized vehicles. Rounding a bend, we see about six "quads" coming towards us. Well that explains the poor condition of the trail. As we approach them, they veer off the trail down into the valley. We have to cycle through the cloud of dust that they leave behind.

The sandy trail is not too tiring; our bodies have become a little more attuned to the physical demand of cycling this kind of surface. The trees along the trail thin out. We now have a view of a large valley of golden rolling hills. The valley is impressive.

The rangeland is a strong contrast to the deep forest we have been traveling. We stop at an octagon shaped cyclist reststop built on the foundation of a former water tower. A strong breeze blows across the open hills whistling through the structure. Despite the sun the wind makes it quite chilly. Little swallows, disturbed by our presence, swoop in and out of their nest above us in the eaves.

An octagon reststop overlooks the Jura Ranch

Continuing on a pleasant downhill grade, we enter the Jura Ranch which extends for 15 kilometers down the valley to the outskirts of Princeton. To decrease the steep grade into Princeton, the trail carves long switchbacks through the dry hilly cattle ranch. Cycling seems effortless as we descend the valley. We continue to be amazed by the beauty of the dry rolling countryside.

As we pass through one of the small stands of pine trees that dot the hills, a hawk flies out from a tall pine below us, its brown form appearing directly in front of us, not twenty feet away, its broad wings carrying it towards some unseen prey.

Beside a tiny watering hole in a low-lying area below one of the curves of a switchback, we spot a doe grazing in a small patch of green grass. Seemingly undisturbed by our silent approach, she raises her head to look at us inquisitively. We stop, quietly admiring her graceful form.

The doe is undisturbed by our quiet approach.

Now and again we see a dead pine, its spindly branches still clinging to its grey trunk. Beside a grove of young trees, lightning has charred an old, once stately pine. Large grey wooden shards lie scattered around a broken blackened spire. Looking at the wispy clouds that dot the sunny landscape, I try to visualize lightning rolling across the hills, unleashing its fury on this wide open space.

A grove of pines creates a shady section of trail

Approaching the Princeton Castle Resort the trail levels off for a short distance. Our effortless ride comes to an end. For several hundred meters large ballast replaces the pleasant trail. I wonder to myself why there is this short section with ballast, perhaps it is a repair of an eroded section of trail. We dismount and walk the short distance.

As we are walking, I notice that M.J. has lost one of her rain booties. She had removed it as the day warmed up and had tucked it under the cinch strap on her Bob bag. I suggest that we could go back a little ways to see if we can find it. We are nearly at the "Castle Resort", our stop for the night. A hot shower beckons... She declines. We ride on to the "Castle" without the "booty."

Following advice that Howard had given us in Penticton, we find a trail that leads from the railbed to the camping area. After a short ride through a stand of tall pines, we arrive at a pleasant campground which also has teepees and tiny cabins for rent. After our cold, wet night the previous day, we decide to take a cabin.

The attendant is a charming, tall, grey-haired man. A rugged looking rancher with a drooping mustache and cowboy boots, he teases us about wanting a cabin and not being real "campers". When we extract our soggy tents to hang them up to dry, he laughs and looks contrite. He quickly offers to get us some rope to string between some trees.

To pay for the cabin, it is necessary to go to the resort office. I remove my Bob trailer and ride a short distance downhill on a paved drive. Without the weight of my trailer, I fly down the hill like a reckless kid on his first bike.

The "Resort" occupies the acreage of an old cement plant which was serviced by a KVR siding. The locals called the impressive fieldstone structure built in the hills above Princeton "The Castle". As I ride by, I see some of the namesake structure now a crumbling reminder of the old mining and railroad era.

Even though the evening is clear, the stars shining, we don't regret our choice of a cabin. We climb into our bunks to read our "borrowed" novels; sleepily we discuss our day's ride. Despite our cold start to the day, the golden hills have transformed our day into golden memories.

Main | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 |
Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12 | Day 13 | Day 14 | Day 15 | Day 16

Intro | KVR Map