Turning 60 On Two Wheels – Part 1: My Bike Journey on the Kettle Valley Railway

My co-worker Rod walked over to my desk sometime last year with the idea we should bike pack a significant part of the BC Epic 1000 bicycle race route.  On the face of it, it seemed like a terrible idea, but I had spent the afternoon filtering down a 1368 row audit spreadsheet to remove all the unimportant hits I could ignore and had only got it down to 1357 lines, so I was more than usually susceptible to suggestions of adventure.  I accepted the invitation and filed it into that oft visited and messy corner of my mind where I store bad ideas.

Around the beginning of the 20th century railroads were the topic in British Columbia.   Anyone who has driven across BC will notice that all the valleys are oriented North and South, which results in much climbing and descending of passes.   The logical route for railways to transport the bounty of the mines in Southern BC to major population centers would have been to connect to James Hill’s Great Northern Railway at Spokane, a politically unacceptable solution for the elected representatives of a new nation.   Sentiment towards Canadian Pacific Railway was less than favourable in the province, which left a void several fledgling rail companies rushed to fill.  Despite the legal skullduggery, fiscal shenanigans, vandalism and even physical battles between competing enterprises eventually a few railways were built. And then subsequently abandoned in sections, the last train running in 1989 over part of the route we were to travel.  The legacy of these failed transportation ventures is a few hundred km of abandoned rights of way, which now form part of the Trans Canada Trail.

Despite having a year’s notice, my preparations began about eight days before we were to leave. I had envisioned setting up my old hardtail into a mile eating touring machine. Intentions clashed with reality and indolence, resulting in the downsized idea of outfitting my fat bike with some smooth rolling 3.8 tires to make it slightly less wattage hungry on pavement.  This plan also fell apart, and it ended up rolling on the slightly worn, suction cup like and heavy Maxxis Minion 4.8 rear tire that made even my short 2.5 km work commute a workout.   In a nod to the very first Honda Trail motorcycles, I bolted on a 32 tooth chainring to accompany the way too low 22 tooth one that was there for my winter riding. I didn’t bother with a front derailleur opting to just get off and choose a range for the day.  I hit up Amazon for some cheap packs and a tent. Most importantly I stocked up on Advil as I intended to take it for breakfast every day and sometimes for lunch as well.

Rod had just completed RAGBRAI, (Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa), so he had a bit of multi day touring experience.  Despite spending a huge portion of my life on bicycles I had never bike packed before. Both of us had the requisite aches, pains and conditions that accompany late middle age. We didn’t train much leading up to the ride fearing there may only be a certain number of kilometres left in our knees. Rod made a good choice and put big tires on his Trek gravel bike.

We decided to start in Princeton about 560 road kms from our home in Cranbrook.  We would join the Kettle Valley Railway right of way and follow the Trans Canada Trail, the 780 or so km home.   We took the blue F150 and abandoned it in the yard of a kindly friend of a co-worker.   There was a trove of good curbside sights along the way, but it was a baking hot day, and I was enjoying the airconditioned comfort, so I took pictures of exactly none of them.

By the time we crossed the province it was late evening, and we had a 15 km bike ride into the Town of Princeton, where our official Kettle Valley Ride would start. It was a short ride, but I really should have ditched the stiff, yet oh so trendy, Carhartts for my cycling shorts.  An unimportant detail at the time, but the little abrasion they started on my inner leg would haunt me for the next 11 days.

This is an automotive blog.  So, I will endeavour to not talk much about the specifics of bike touring over high mountains, which are completely devoid of potable water. Water weighs a kilogram a litre.  Any concessions towards light weight touring went out the window as we strapped water bottles all over our bikes.  Rod’s Trek Cross Point was at least lightweight to start with, before it was laden down with all the junk needed for a self-supported trip like this.

Travelling by bicycle is interesting and I had read Jeff Sun’s trip report on the Erie Canal ride, where there was so much to see and so much history. A lot of this ride was going to be the opposite.  Other than some tunnels and trestles, this route is mostly devoid of anything resembling civilization except the odd foundation and signs explaining what was present a hundred years ago.

Day 2 was our first big day and coincidentally my 60th birthday.  Until this exact point in my life, I had been convinced the least self-aware phase of life is the early teen years.  After a couple of hours of hot climbing I was willing to revise that long standing belief to consider that men turning 60 may, in fact, be even dumber than your average teen.  I was all of 25 km into a 700km plus journey and solidly doubting my decision-making abilities and my desire to spend another 9 or 10 days doing this.  I was glad I had made the decision to carry a spare tube. A bear watched as I changed my first flat.

There were occasional signs and reminders of a time when there were train stations and communities all over BC.  Stopping to read all the signs was a good water break.  The air was smoky from forest fires.

There was a bit of satisfaction in using a simple twig stove to cook dinner.

The Jetboil was pressed into service where fires were not allowed. Honestly, it really didn’t make much difference in the flavour of the simple but hearty fare we were sustaining on.

Long time cyclists will know to always check on the cause of a flat before just throwing caution to the wind and dropping a new tube in there. Not to mention confirming that the glue in the patch kit has not dried out. Especially when travelling remote areas where there are no stores or services of any kind.  I had been 60 for 3 days and already my memory was in decline it seemed. As I had done exactly none of the aforementioned:

A historical society still operates a small portion of the KVR complete with a lovely old engine, built by Montreal Locomotive Works in 1912, the Spirit of Summerland 2-8-0 Class N2b pulls the tourist train. This engine was originally built as a coal-burning locomotive.  It was rebuilt in 1929 and converted from coal to oil:

Really, really, really should have bought more glue for the patch kit in Penticton.  And some bigger bandages as well.  On the plus side, all the things I expected could go wrong with our mature selves such as swollen Achilles tendons, knees, wrists and myocardial infarctions hadn’t transpired.  But the patch of skin my shorts had worn through was dominating my thoughts every hour on the bicycle.

Not surprisingly, it was hot at the Rock Ovens used by the Chinese rail workers. Despite the sign there were no rattlesnakes to see.

There is some cycling infrastructure in place. These nice gazebos were a good place for lunch.

Revisiting a place where my Toyota 4×4 traversed 30 or so years ago:

A lot safer now with railings and no vehicles using it:

The Myra Trestles are quite a draw and a great place to visit.  Smart people rent an electric bicycle of which there are many available.

After a long 50 km section where I had to pump up the tire every two km or so we hit Beaverdell, where a most excellent little hardware store had a great selection of tire repair products. Operative word is “had” as I went a bit overboard on my purchases.  Not going to make the same mistake again.

It has been a drought year in the southern interior.  Rivers and creeks were at the lowest levels people had seen. There was really no water to even filter sometimes.

Rock Creek has a bakery to resident ratio of about 1 bakery for every 30 residents.   This old beauty was sitting outside as lawn art:

A Rock Creek advertising vehicle.  I actually just noticed now, that not only was there Karaoke which I sadly missed, punk legends D.O.A. were also on the bill.

I wonder if anyone was tempted to belt out Disco Sucks at the Karaoke session.

At Midway the Railway went from being the Kettle Valley to the Columbia and Western.   It was still inferno hot, but fortunately for me, there were no paved sections for a while, so I didn’t have the energy sapping pavement to deal with.

I had rediscovered a taste for Mr. Freezies.  The heat and smoke were playing heck with my throat.

The tunnels were another great respite from the heat.

The lower elevations of the Boundary country were a lot easier to build rails on than the high mountains.

Stopping under Paulson Bridge on Highway 3 to wait for a bear who was unwilling to move:

Sometimes I remember to take trailside pictures of cars.  Not that there were many:

I think there is an ironclad rule at Curbside Classics that we take pictures of Mopars from the 60s. This one is for sale. I didn’t have my chequebook on me but if I had I would have abandoned my bicycle in a heartbeat:

I have seen this old Hino based motorhome all over BC this year.  It is also for sale. Would have been a big upgrade on the tent:

The Columbia and Western right of way was also dotted with interesting history:

And more scenery on the Lower Arrow Lake to close out 10 hours in the saddle.

As we got nearer home, we boarded the MV Balfour, built in 1954, for the half hour trip across Kootenay Lake.  A ride that is billed as the longest free scenic ferry ride in the world.

One phenomena that I have noticed is that car wrecks don’t get recovered like they used to. This truck was apparently left by the owner when the recovery bill was too large:

The GMC joins a much older relative on the shores of Kootenay Lake:

It was a wet day when we set off the steep and high Gray Creek Pass.  I often pushed the bike as my Garmin reported that it was faster than pedalling in the lowest gear. Faster being relative, progress was glacial either walking or riding in first. But as Rod pointed out every day. At least you are not at work:

I am not a big fan of the Gray Creek Pass at the best of times.  It’s rocky, steep and not that scenic.  This day was not even close to the best of times.  The irritated skin on my leg hated every kilometer of that climb.  But there was no way to abandon the ride before the final summit:

Abandoned and vandalized cars are getting common.  This one is at the summit of the Gray Creek Pass:

My bike having suffered 10,000 plus kms and a lot of adventures while I have had it, had been persnickety on this trip. Trail conditions were a non-issue and Rod’s gravel bike proved to be a better choice for most of terrain. Two hundred metres from the summit of Gray Creek my chain snapped. I had a chain tool, but it seemed prudent to get out of the high country before night fell, so I coasted down the east side of the pass towards home.

We were out of time as I had to be at work the next day.  Thanks to the miracle of satellite technology, we were met by Rod’s son at the bottom of the pass. So the bikes were loaded onto the red Tacoma and we did the last few km, bit the easy way after 11 long days of pedalling:

It was an adventure for my first two weeks as a senior citizen.  Other than the Mr. Freezies and terrible nutrition, I can’t say I was in any way reliving my youth as I would not have done this when I was younger and smarter.   It was invigorating to travel so lightly and cheaply, our accommodations averaged $10 per person per night.  We met some very interesting world travellers along the way, I enjoyed briefly joining their adventurous company.

I was tired.  And had a few rather sore spots on my body.  I vowed, I that I was done with bad ideas for a while.  A while turned out to be 4 days. After all, a person only turns 60 once.