Day 13 - Princeton Castle Resort to Coalmont 23 km

Sun peeks through the tall pines that surround our tiny cabin. The morning is cool with a promise of warm afternoon. It will be a leisurely day. We will ride the 5 km into Princeton where we will have our wheels inspected; then we will ride along the picturesque Tulameen River to Coalmont.

It is an easy downhill coast into Princeton, a small town located at the confluence of the Tulameen and Similkameen Rivers. We arrive at the bike shop shortly after 9 a.m. where we find a sign on the door indicating that they are closed because of "Tulameen Days".

We discuss our options. We have four more days of cycling and this is the last bike shop until we get to Hope. Personally I'm a little worried. Although we haven't had any problems, it would be preferable to have our bikes checked over. I recall that the owner runs an extension of his shop from his home in Tulameen which is 20 kilometers further down the trail—perhaps we can get in contact with him. The only problem is I can't recall his name.

I ask at the store next door. They don't know the owner's name, but they do tell me about "Tulameen Days." Tulameen located on the shore of Otter Lake was a favorite entertainment and relaxation spot for the miners during the gold rush era. Every year Tulameen still celebrates "Tulameen Days" and the celebration draws a large "party" crowd. It sounds like we are going to be reluctant guests at a wild party.

I ask at the garage across the street, but they don't know the owner's name. In a small town, I expect everyone to know each other. Well, I guess this town isn't that small. The man at the garage is very helpful though. He calls a couple of people to try and find the fellow's name. They don't know either...

We give up and head down the street to the diner that we saw on our way into town. M.J. is a hundred feet behind me. I stop, carefully watching for traffic before I cross the road to the diner. Suddenly I hear a great crash. I quickly look behind me. M.J. is lying on the ground with her bike on top of her.

"Are you OK?" She looks rather rattled. "Yes, I'm fine," she says looking around. "I came to stop and then—I fell over." I don't dare giggle but she looks so surprised that it is rather funny. "Are you sure you're OK?" She berates herself, indignant to be sprawled on the pavement. "Only my pride is hurt—We travel for days on rough backcountry terrain, and I manage to fall over while standing still on a level paved surface!"

On the terrace of the diner, we enjoy the blue sky filled with wispy clouds and the warm sun. The day is promising to be perfect for cycling, warm but not too hot. We discuss how traveling 20 kilometers along the trail can result in a big change in the temperature and precipitation. We seem to have run the whole gamut, from extremely hot, to warm, to rain, drizzle and cold. Cycling this beautiful trail is not only an exploration of the contrast between the mountains and the valleys but it is also an exploration of the varied weather of British Columbia's interior.

After an enjoyable breakfast, we take a tour of the main street. M.J. purchases a five dollar "emergency" blanket, in hopes that the grey square of woolly looking material described as "unknown fibers" will add some warmth to her sleeping bag.

I sit on the curb with our bikes while M.J. shops for enough supplies to last another four days. I have become accustomed to sitting leisurely on the trail; here in town I feel just as comfortable loitering on the sidewalk of the main street. I sit with my back against a post, watching the world go by.

In front of a local pub I spot an old mining cart which has been reinvented as a pretty flower planter. My mind wanders back to what I have read about the beginning of the railway era in Princeton. The history of what is now known as the KVR is a convoluted tale of strategic alliances, broken promises, lost fortunes, political struggles and scandal. Speculators from both the United States and Canada vied for control of the flow of goods and minerals in lower British Columbia.

Like most of the towns along the KVR, the region's minerals ultimately brought the railroad to Princeton. Gold, coal and copper played a large part in the development of surrounding towns. Jim Hill, an American, was the first to bring the railroad to Princeton. His railroad the V V & E (Vancouver, Victoria and Eastern) had forged a route south from Midway, west through the United States then followed the Similkameen River north back into Canada. The people of Princeton were so pleased with the arrival of the railroad that at the inauguration of the Princeton Station the locals unofficially renamed the Similkameen River, the Jimhillkameen River.

A mining cart finds a new use as a planter

M.J. returns laden down with supplies. I'm intrigued as to what surprises await me in the bulging packages. As we pack our trailers, I nod with approval over her choice of menu for the next few days, particularly her choice for my favorite food group—sweets. Chocolate candies should do wonders for my stamina.

Returning to the trail we pass the original station that Jim Hill built. It houses a Subway Restaurant and the local Information Center. The white, vinyl-clad building is now well disguised except for its proximity to the trail and the telltale station master's bay window.

The trail follows the edge of the Tulameen riverbed in a deep sandy cut through what is known as the Vermilion Cliffs. Impressive red sandstone slopes reach high above us. Along the edge of the cliffs, we catch glimpses of a winding road.

Although still edging the river, the trail gradually climbs higher until we are looking down from a sandy embankment into the clear fast flowing water. Far down the trail at a bend in the river, a tiny structure appears, perched on the riverbank. Cycling closer we see a wooden octagon shaped reststop.

The trail follows the pretty Tulameen River

From its shady benches, we have a lovely view up and down the river. To the west an old trestle is visible near the entrance to Parr Tunnel. Across the river the remnants of an overgrown grade can also be seen. At this point the railbed used to follow the south side of the river but the washout of two trestles resulted in the construction of the tunnel on the north side.

The loose sandy banks of the river indicate that the flow of this watercourse remains a constant threat to the trail. As I sit in the reststop, with its proximity to the river, I feel uneasy. The pretty viewpoint seems precariously close to an unstable riverbank.

Looking west towards Parr Tunnel

The trail continues along the picturesque river. The high steep slopes are now vast sandy banks, yet numerous large trees cling to the loose surface. For a short distance, the trail crosses the river to the south side where erosion has claimed some of the original railbed, narrowing the trail to a barely passable rocky path. As we get closer to Coalmont, the trail turns into a washboard road. Although the temperature is still pleasant, grey rain clouds start to appear.

Across the river, the Granite Creek Camping area looks crowded with campers, possibly an overflow of the party crowd from Tulameen. To reach the campground we will have to continue on to Coalmont where we can cross the river, then backtrack to the camping area.

When we reach Coalmont, we decide to check out the supper menu at the Coalmont Hotel before we continue back to the campground. The sky is looking more threatening, we shouldn't delay setting up our tents.

The Coalmont Hotel is a step back in time. The wooden clapboard building with its large front porch is the only remaining business in the old mining community. The rustic bar is busy with local patrons. The room has a heavy smell of old tobacco smoke. An odd assortment of pictures, several stuffed hunting trophies, as well as various animal hides adorn the walls. We inquire about a meal.

The kitchen only opens at 5 o'clock, so we will have a bit of a wait. We order a cool drink and sit with other patrons under the watchful eyes of several ancient deer. A couple comes in and sits beside us. The woman asks us if those are our bikes out front. Being the only Spandex clad patrons in the room, we admit to ownership.

The woman says that they are cycling along the trail from Tulameen to Princeton as a day trip. On the way in she has noticed our bear spray which we carry in an easily accessible pocket on the top of our rear bag. She inquires whether there are bears on the trail. Her husband is gesturing for us to say no. We're not dissuaded from making an honest reply.

We tell her, although we haven't seen any bears, we saw bear scat along the trail outside Princeton. Behind her husband a large bear skin hangs on the wall. He is still gesturing for us to say no. We are still not dissuaded from being honest about the possibility of meeting a bear. An encounter is unlikely but one should be aware that—it is possible. One should also have some knowledge of how to react to the situation.

The weather outside is looking increasingly threatening. We inquire if they have any rooms available. The price sounds reasonable and we are ushered up a wide creaking staircase to the second floor where we are given a room above the bar.

I find the room fascinating. A high ceiling, wood planked floor and a tall sash window that looks out onto the street. Iron bed frames, dark wood washstand and linoleum which resembles a flowered carpet—it looks like it may very well be the original decor.

The bathroom down the hall is just as intriguing. Gold lettering on the door indicates "Gents". The hall on this side of the stairwell used to be segregated for "Gentlemen" only. The long, narrow room has the original claw-foot bathtub and a corner porcelain sink.

We sit on our beds and giggle, the place is just so—old. We feel as if we have stepped into a time warp. The room is dark with the shadow of the heavy rain clouds outside. A pelting rain is soon streaming down the window. I wonder how the "bear" couple is doing on the trail.

M.J. can't wait to try the vintage bathtub. When she returns, she is highly disappointed, the vintage bathtub also has vintage plumbing and vintage water pressure. She has just had a vintage experience trying to wash her thick mane of hair.

On our way to supper, we notice a strange looking vehicle parked across the street from the hotel. It is a monstrous three wheeled motor cycle. I have never seen anything quite like it. It has a huge open engine with multiple chrome exhaust pipes which extend down each side of the shiny black body. Gold gilded accents, streamers on the handlebars and two gold "coach lamps" at the rear complete the effect. The menacing looking "bike" dwarfs our manpowered vehicles that are leaning against the porch.

When we return to the busy bar for supper, we hear snatches of conversations about "Tulameen Days." Perhaps it is always this busy or perhaps there is an overflow of revelers from Tulameen which isn't too far down the road. I feel a little uncomfortable about being a trail-weary cyclist among the bar crowd. We find two empty seats and we sit down beside a big bear of a man wearing a black leather vest.

Although a little leery, M.J. and I are soon engaged in a friendly conversation with the man in the black leather vest. He is very personable and, having grown up in the area, he reminisces fondly about his boyhood memories of Coalmont. He confirms our thoughts about the hotel—that over the years little has changed.

The conversation turns to horses, one of M.J.'s favourite topics. Kris, a horse rancher, talks passionately about his horses. We also discover that he is the owner of the unique vehicle parked outside. He is just as passionate about his "motorcycle." He proudly gives us a tour of the vehicle that he has crafted himself. Although we are suitably impressed, we decline his offer to take a spin. Pointing to our scrawny looking assembly of metal leaning against the porch, we indicate that "We prefer to stick to our pedal power."

We meet a different kind of biker in Coalmont

Before we retire to our room, we inquire if it would be acceptable to put our bikes up on the porch for the night. The owner suggests that we put them in the hotel lobby. The small entry is crowded with an assortment of furniture and we do our best to place our gear out of the way. Looking back as we climb the stairs, the fact that we have added our bikes to the decor seems oddly normal.

The noise emanating from the bar below seeps into the room. Despite the din, we are still enamored with the unique railroad era hotel and the friendly people. We lounge on our beds listening to the happy crowd below us. M.J. still has energy to read her novel. I find instant relief from my earplugs and drift off to sleep.

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