Friday morning my pannier was attacked by a bird or mammal. It ate half my Nutella sandwich and obliterated my zipper. If you see a small, bloated mammal near Canyon Hot Springs, please sedate it, pump its stomach and give me back my Nutella.
Yesterday we cycled Roger’s Pass. It seemed significantly easier than any of the other passes we’ve climbed. Hopefully that’s because we’re awesome, but probably it was just because it actually was easier.
The descent through the tunnels was frickin’ intense. We were dashing downhill when suddenly the first one was upon us. Despite our headlamps, we couldn’t even see two feet of pavement. All we could do was pray there weren’t any potholes.
On the ride “down” to Golden, Doug and I passed the time rap-battling with “my bike/your bike” rhymes. We must have come up with a couple hundred of them. Here are some of my favorites that I can recall.
My bike/ Just won the lottery
Your bike/ Sucks at pottery
My bike/ Just let the boss go
Your bike/ Got fired from Costco
My bike/ Swam to Tofino
Your bike/ Still looking for Nemo
My bike/ Got a royal wedding
Your bike/ Had to change the bedding
My bike’s wife just made me a sandwich
Your bike’s wife don’t know where her man is
We’ve crossed into the Rocky Mountain trench. Some of the views are so breathtaking that they actually force me to halt my downhill momentum, dismount, and gape for several minutes. It’s tough to capture the magnitude of this natural experience. A photograph cannot describe the ruthless beauty of these colossal, frigid faces, nor the sense of depth that thrills the air. We are left to utter minute banalities like “this is ridiculous” and “I can’t believe this shit” over and over, until our primal natures have numbed to the awe of each vista.
Last night we stayed just outside Golden (receiving yet another ridiculous deal on a campsite). This morning we arrived in the town and separated for errands. Coady and I went thrift store shopping for our Kicking Horse costumes (stay tuned), while Eddie, Vicky, Court, and Ciaran snagged a bunch more free food.
I was stoked to find a CD by an old friend’s cousin when we lounged in Bacchus Books.
Kat then pointed out that Suzie was standing behind the desk. She must have been fourteen the last time I saw her. Dag, I’m starting to get old.
As I write this, I’m perched on a rock over a glacier-fed river. I now appreciate the purpose of having a colour called “aquamarine”. This water looks like life and moves like death.
One more mountain pass to go.