Day 11: More Mountains

We woke to a nip in the air and the sounds of car doors opening and slamming. There were a couple of young women with a tent at the site right beside us. As we woke up and put on the only sweat pants and sweat shirts we had packed, L and I headed out to the bear lockers to retrieve our stores. I asked L if she had heard our neighbors packing up their car. She agreed she had, and she said, those two girls got cold and they went to sleep in the car.

No way, how would she know that? But sure enough, she was right. Their car was still there with a pair of flip flops neatly placed beside each door. When we passed, the front seats were empty. Both girls were huddled in the back seat. Man, did she call it. Less than 20 minutes later, they had had enough. They took their tent and went home for some proper rest.

S and K came over to our site with the camp stove and their freezer bags full of oatmeal. L was banging around in the tent while S, K, and I sat in front of a roaring fire, wearing knit caps, full sweats, and our frozen fingers wrapped around scalding hot mugs of coffee. L stuck her head out of the tent and asked brightly, “Hey, has anyone seen my swimsuit?”

We collapsed in laughter. “It’s July!” we all cried in unison.

“I know. I’m thinking of putting on my swimsuit and walking around all the campsites in nothing else but flip flops and a towel over one arm and asking everyone, ‘Do you know where the pool is? I thought there was a pool.’”

We clutched ourselves.

“Hey, don’t laugh. It might be the only thing I wear today. I’ll ride on out of here in my leopard print with the skirt flying out behind me and my snow-peaked mountains jutting forward to lead the way!”

Coffee expelled through nostrils.

So, the Canadians love to camp, but they are pretty prissy about it. At the shower house in the morning, all the sinks were taken by women blow drying their hair and applying makeup. This is camping?

We got back on the road, onto Route 16: The Yellowhead Highway. I had seen on the map a town called Tete Jaune. I was thrilled to be able to lend my French “skills” to the group and was all prepared to act all scholarly and inform them that it meant yellow head. Then we saw Yellowhead Mountain, and the Yellowhead Highway that helpfully had a cameo graphic of a head in profile and is colored in yellow. Turns out that once again I am no use whatsoever to the group.

We drove through Mount Robson Park. Mount Robson is the highest peak in Canada (according to an overheard conversation that I have not taken the time to verify. If you want facts you can count on, you got the wrong blog). Again, we saw the most stunning array of mountain peaks still hanging onto pockets of snow.

About lunchtime, we stopped for gas at a little town called McBride. It was located so that whatever direction you turned, you saw mountains looming around you. The buildings were right out of the set of Andy Griffith. At a little ramshackle home across from the gas station, a man was making chainsaw art. It was wonderful craftsmanship, and while one man performed for the four of us, his lecherous buddy sidled up to S and tried to make his move on her, inviting to come back after 5:00 to drink with him.

We went across the road to eat at a park and then found an information center there. We got some great maps and brochures for camping throughout B.C., all for free. We popped back on the road, and the mountains were in the rear view mirror. We had the best roads for motorcycling we had hit to date: nice curves that you could take at speed, and just rolling hills. Wonderful. Then a trip highlight: we drove down a hill, and we saw a big black bear in the middle of the road. When he saw us, he ran to the side of the road, then stood up on his hind legs and turned around to look at us, as if it say, “What in the world was that??” Well, why should the bear be any different. We are four women on bikes. We have been garnering nothing but attention for 11 days now.

Again, we drove for over a hundred miles without seeing a house or a side street, and then all of a sudden, we came across a series of three or four handmade signs advertising homemade bread and pies and other goodies. It was a café in the wilderness. We stopped because there were gas pumps, but we stayed because they had ice cream.

As we walked in, L had to duck under a brown paper lunch bag blown up and tied to the top of the doorway. As we enjoyed our cones, L asked the waitress what was up with the bags. She said they deter hornets. Does that work? Oh, yes. Hornets are very territorial. They see the paper bag and they think it is a hive, so they don’t come in. The things you learn.

While we were picking out cookies to take to the campsite with us for later, a man parked his RV and came in to buy a pie. He asked her if she had a whole blueberry pie, and she said she did. He looked at it. Can I taste it first? I don’t want to be stuck with a pie I don’t like. We all looked at each other. This was the stupidest thing we had heard all day. You get to sample ice cream before you commit to a cone, but you don’t get to try a piece of pie. They let him try it anyway.

Here’s the best part. As we walked back to the bikes, we were checking out his RV. On the back, he had a big bumper sticker stating he was a member of “IAAI – The International Association Against Idiots.”

Daily Recap: 230 miles, Back to British Columbia, RV campground in Prince George, B.C.