Washington State

We're in the Olympic National Park, Washington State, USA. The sun is shining, Crescent Lake is a gorgeous luminous green at the base of the hill in front of our campsite, and coffee is beginning to flow from our awesome stovetop coffee maker. I love this device. There are chipmunks frolicking about, chasing each other through patches of sunlight and up and down trees. It's a peaceful, beautiful setting.

Last night was pretty much the opposite, with rain and noise galore, both from party animals of the human persuasion, and from critters going about their nightly business. Signs regarding critter management are plentiful here - which makes sense given that the critter roster includes bears and cougars* - and dictate measures including locking away not only all food, but also cosmetics, toiletries, and "Any Smelly Items." On that basis, I really should have been locked in the van for the night, but wasn't, which may go some way towards explaining why some small creature of the night (non-human variety, I'm pretty certain) was so intent on using our tent as a scratching post.

We left Vancouver after a day more than originally planned, during which we finally went Downtown to see what we could see. As it turned out, what we could see included the Ming Dynasty garden of Dr Sun Yat Sen (which was arse until someone explained it to us, after which it was quite cool), the Vancouver Aquarium (too many cool things to list), and the Downtown East Side, which is where the homeless people congregate. The latter was an unplanned encounter, on our way from the garden in Chinatown to the eating establishments of Gastown**. In the space of a block we went from Oriental squalor/splendor to being surrounded by literally hundreds of homeless people, almost all men. The one space which was not chock-full of scary grubby men was outside the Women's Refuge, and it was full of not-as-grubby but scarier-looking women.

Janine's just handed me a breakfast burrito (scrambled eggs, spicy rice, sundried tomatoes, and "Mean Green Iguana" hot and spicy jalapeno sauce, all wrapped in a corn tortilla). It's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. We've already found jalapeno goodness in cheese and on potato chips, and we're still within a day of the Canadian border - looking forward to more chili goodness as we get further south.

Crossing the border was interesting - we had to jump through some extra hoops as a result of Janine's New Zealandness (my Canadian passport was waved through without a second glance), but Officer West was very nice and found a way to get us through without paying money***. One of his fellow officers wasn't quite so nice though, or so it seemed when he appeared behind the counter, muscular tattooed arms, sunglasses, bulletproof vest, grim face. "Is that your van?" he asked. "Gulp," I replied. "This fell out." He held out a tennis ball. I suspect he found it funnier than I did, although the prospect of being cavity searched began to fade**** and I was smiling by the time we got back to the van. Smile turned to confusion when we hit the highway to Bellingham - wide open country road in good condition, but with a 50 speed limit posted. Everyone else seemed to be ignoring that by at least 40km/hr, but I REALLY don't want to be arrested, so was obediently trundling along at 50km/hr... until I realised that with the crossing from Canada to the US we'd moved from metric to imperial, and the speed limit was 50 miles per hour, not 50km.

Next stop Anacortes, on Fidalgo Island. Connected to the mainland by a causeway, Anacortes hosts ferry services to a bunch of islands, including Vancouver Island. We didn't get on any of them though - we went to the information centre, and were given maps and directions from a lovely little old lady*****. We then visited Skagit Bikes Anacortes for ride info and were given a bunch of primo info and map detail, including the bike shop guy's own preferred ride loop, which I rode in the early evening while Janine drank beer and read her book at our campsite in Washington Park. The riding was pretty good, although constrained by its semi-urban setting into tighter, twistier trails, with less flow and variety than the excellence of Campbell River. Still really nice though, so despite falling off and carnaging a finger and hip right at the start, I was keen as a bean to go again with Janine the next morning. Neither of us had major falls, but we saw a mole (dead, and reminiscent of a dead little blue penguin I once saw and photographed on Opito Bay beach), and what may have been a beaver dam******, and Janine found a big patch of stinging nettle, and came away with a nasty rash, which I thought was funny until I found some nettles of my own to play in.

Ferry from Keystone to Port Townsend was cool, and included some tall ships firing some cannons at each other. Unfortunately Port Angeles was closed (it's a long weekend here, and lots of shopkeepers seem to have bailed), so we have no idea where any riding is around here. Not a major issue though, as we're heading now for a trail run followed by a soak in the Sol Duc Hot Springs, which is sounding more and more lovely as the temperature plummets.




* = actual mountain lions, not women of a certain age seeking younger men for wriggly action

** = based purely on the name, I consider Gastown to be my spiritual home. The fact that it's full of places to eat and drink, and abuts the slightly seedy part of town (Blood Alley, anyone?) adds to the match. Smart Mouth cafe, where we ate lunch, was also pretty awesome

*** = and no sexual favors either, from either of us

**** = he had REALLY big hands

***** = the only thing I didn't like about the helpful little old lady was her gnarled arthritic hands. Not because of any premonitions about my future, but because it confused the heck out of me when she pointed things out on the map, to the point where not only did I get hopelessly lost while attempting to find Washington Park, but I also managed to helpfully misdirect a couple of touring cyclists based on my woefully incorrect understanding of where things were

****** = may have been a random collection of sticks and mud clogging a minor waterway

RRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Left Gosling Lake and headed back to the trail network. Managed to not run into the doe and fawn on the road by the lake where the eagle was still lurking, then parked at what yesterday`s helpful local had said was the real main carpark, near Lost Lake. Hit the trails, and were straight back into some of the sweetest singletrack we`ve ridden. Miles and miles of the stuff, with enough variation (rocky bits and forest bits and streams and bluffs with views, and, and, and...) that we were in no danger of becoming bored.

Oh, and a bear.

A BEAR!

Flew round a corner and stopped. Fast. The bear (which was HUGE!) was rampaging its way away from me, across the stream and up the hill on the other side. I got the feeling I`d given it a hell of a fright. It certainly gave me one. I recall telling Janine just how glad I was that we were on the western side of the stream on a trail heading south, and the bear (which was HUGE!) was safely on the east bank, and moving away northeast. Imagine my sense of calm and wellbeing when the trail crossed the stream and carved back northwards. I`m told the stop-start manner in which I rode for the next half hour was not just incredibly infuriating, but also outright dangerous, as the places I stopped tended to be on corners and at the crests of hills.

There were lots of black and yellow centipedes in the woods, and an eagle did a close-range flyover as we ate lunch on the shores of Lost Lake, but the calibre of the trails and the bear encounter* really made the morning.

Spent the afternoon driving south, stopping for photo ops every so often. The rain had washed most of the grime off the van by the time we reached the giant gnome at Nanoose, and we made it to the ferry terminal at Nanaimo with plenty of time spare for soup (for Janine) and pizza (for me) before setting sail back to North Vancouver.

Managed to lose the van on the ferry, which was funny for a while but not for quite as long as it took to relocate it. Not that we`re hopeless or anything.

Uselessness aside, the trip was, overall, fairly successful. We both survived, as did our marriage, and we tweaked and refined our systems for packing and camping. Figured out a few more things we needed, and learned valuable lessons about riding in unknown areas (get a proper map), photo opportunities (take them the first chance you get - you may not pass that way again), and camping (the ground is hard. Be very tired when you try to sleep on it. And don`t leave stuff against the inside of the tent wall. Unless you want it damp).

Route has been mapped - see it at http://maps.google.ca/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&msa=0&msid=106918118566348842533.000486e90f8b05261a941&z=7

Next stop, USA...

* = It was HUGE!

Buzz

By the time we arrived in Campbell River town we'd eaten most of our delicious foods, so we stopped first at the local supermarket. Janine went in while I sat in the van, reading up on where we'd be riding and listening to the local radio station. Our "Guide to Mountain-Biking on Vancouver Island" devoted a few pages to the Campbell River region, including a map which showed a bunch of trails, and a couple of suggested loops. It also advised checking with the local bike shop for a detailed trail map, but a) we'd ridden a couple of times already using the maps in the book and had had only minor issues, and b) I could see the local bike shop from where I was sitting*, and it was closed. Accordingly, Janine's reappearance with new delicious foods heralded a blast out to the watertower carpark (via a 30km forgot-to-read-the-bit-about-how-to-get-there detour) for some forest action.

Unfortunately, the water tower looked quite different from its picture, and the carpark was deserted, so we weren't certain we were in the right place and went looking for alternative spots down some seriously shitty roads before returning to the only tower in the vicinity for a slap-up feast of burrito-like things. Set off on the bikes, found the trailhead, and were instantly befuddled as no less than four trails meandered away where our map said there should be one. Sigh. Janine's charming self to the rescue saw a helpful local helpfully tell us which trail was the one we sought and where he thought we should head. Then he gave us his own trail map, which was four times the size and massively more detailed than the one in the book. Thanks, helpful local!

The Campbell River trail network lives across the Snowden Demonstration Forest** and the Elk Falls Provincial Park, covers a sizeable area, and contains some of the best riding I've found anywhere; as good or better than Rotorua outback trails before SouthStar started shuttling people to the top of the hill and killed the flow of the trails. We rode fast and for hours, and the riding outshone the wildlife (especially once the "elk" I was stalking turned out to be a horse ridden by a fat ugly woman drinking pepsi from a can). The not-scared-of-YOU chipmunk was pretty cool though. We found a hydro dam and a trail called Sanitarium (which we didn't ride). Got mildly lost, just for a change.

After the ride, we had a decent gravel road drive to Gosling Lake, where we camped overnight. We were almost cleaned out by a huge pickup towing a HUGE caravan at really high speeds straight down the middle of the road (our van handled the off-road avoidance detour rather well), and saw an eagle (which was ENORMOUS!) at a lake which had ruins which indicated it had once had a bridge of sorts across it.

Gosling Lake was deserted. A local family turned up, had a picnic, and left again in the early evening, but apart from that we had the place to ourselves, which was both pretty cool (NAKED!) and kind of scary (What was that noise?). There were shotgun shells in the firepits, which made me wonder when the locals were going to turn up for beer- and bourbon-fuelled shootin' and hollerin', and the (really loud!) chorus of frogs from the swamp at the south-west corner of the lake had a disconcerting habit of falling totally silent (as they did when we went looking for them) at irregular intervals, leaving me wondering who or what was on its way into camp. Janine was blissfully untroubled by any such paranoid musings, and instead of fretting did practical things like tie our tarpaulin (we have a tarpaulin?) between four trees to provide shelter from the light rain for the picnic table we were using. As usual, the lake was full of fish. Somewhat less usual was the raft tied up to the jetty (we sat on it but didn't take it out), and the massive amount of splashing from the far end of the lake at one point in the evening, where something big (bear? cougar?) was doing something (fishing? bathing?).

Saw our second hummingbird, which was the first one I've seen close-up. The noise of its wings was incredibly loud; it was like being near a gigantic insect, only without the revulsion.





* = Luckily the parking lot was out of sight of the local Little League baseball field we passed on the way in to town - I'm pretty sure that in a town that size a scruffy, smelly bloke sitting in a big white van which used to be red next to where a bunch of children are playing might invite attention.

** = The "Demonstration" part of the name refers to the management model in use, where commercial forestry and power generation operations exist alongside recreational use elements like mountain-biking, hiking, and camping. There was a lot of info about it posted on signboards around the place, and more available on the net (including an article about North Vancouver's Seymour Demonstration Forest entitled "Sweet Places to Take Your Sweetie")

Alan Thicke and the Stroke Man

Heading up-island on the Trans-Canada Highway we crossed, among others, Thicke Road. This, of course, made me think of the 1980s sitcom Growing Pains, in which Alan Thicke played the father character. Not sure whether it was that role or others from his extensive portfolio which made him my grandmother's favorite actor. I'm most impressed by his credentials as theme-song composer for a number of television shows, including Diff'rent Strokes and The Facts of Life (but not for Growing Pains).

Bypassed Nanaimo, and cut across to the Oceanside Route. Stopped in Parksville (see Being Helped, and Being Thrifty for more on this stop) where we saw our second snake. This one was being mauled by a crow. Janine thought that was kind of cool. I thought it was sad. I wanted the snake to stage a fightback, like a pro wrestler who's been on the wrong end of eight two-counts. We left before it happened, but I'm sure that it probably did.

Next stop was Dodge City Cycles in Cumberland, where we acquired a detailed trail map of the Cumberland trails and some advice on which ones to ride. Made camp at the Comox Lake Campground, and biked back along road and old railbed to the main trail area. The fire road up to the trailheads wasn't the longest climb we've done, nor the steepest, but Janine's decision to check on the wellbeing of the hiker with the funny walk and the scratches heading the other way provided a welcome rest opportunity. We never got his name, but learned that he'd had a stroke a few years back (hence the funny walk), and whilst in hospital swore he'd use whatever time he had left to the fullest. When we saw him he was nearing the end of a 44km loop up to a highland lake, although the way he walked probably made it the equivalent of a 75km expedition for a non-afflicted person. Stroke man, we salute you!

The riding at Cumberland was the best yet. Fast, flowing XC stuff, which had both of us smiling. A lot.

Two and a half hours and we felt like a) we'd only scratched the surface and b) we'd happily ride most of the trails again. We found out later (from the grumpy campground guy) that there's another XC trail network on the other side of the lake, up around Forbidden Plateau, and an annual adventure race (part of the Mind Over Mountains series). Worth a return visit.

South Island Kowhai

Late departure from Victoria meant that we were still a ways away from our intended destination (campsite at Jordan River) when the tiredness hit. So we stopped sooner, at the Sunny Shores Campground near Sooke, where the list of rules was extensive and draconian, and the woman in the office looked commensurately sour. Apparently she was actually entirely personable, but I decided not to like her based on that initial view from the van in through the office window*.

We rode next morning at Broom Hill. I'm guessing it takes its name from the extensive coverage of what I once thought was a South Island variant of kowhai**. The place was a mass of flowers, with blue and white wildflowers and the bright yellow broom blooms. We were heartened by being able to ride more of the trails than was the case in North Vancouver, and we didn`t get lost in the first 90 minutes. Then I took over navigating. Eventually, I rounded a corner, clipped the stump end of a branch on a fallen tree, and fell off into a broom bush. Exactly the same way I did it the first time we rode the trail, 2 hours earlier. Not how I'd planned to fix our position, but effective. We spied a lizard sunning itself on a rock near the summit, and a wonderfully-camouflaged bird resting on a disused wooden trestle (we only penetrated its disguise because we were stopped there for so long trying to figure out where the heck we were).

Quick stop back at Sunny Shores (Nene showered while I broke camp) and we were off! Passed Jordan River, and although it looked pleasant enough, we were pleased we'd not pushed on the night before. Hit our first less-than-excellent road surface en route to Port Renfrew (which we bypassed) then hooked inland to our first semi-official camping spot, as outlined by our 'Camp Free in BC' handbook; Lizard Lake. Hard to tell how deep the lake actually was, as it was incredibly clear - the axolotl (salamander, for folks from El Norte) we saw swam straight down for a LONG time before it disappeared from view. People were fishing from jetty and canoes. We walked around the lake, saw our first chipmunk, were investigated by an inquisitive jay, and generally had a fantastic time. The couple who were there when we arrived were nice, as were the family and other couple who arrived later. The group of three half-pissed guys in the souped-up Chrysler 300 weren`t quite so appealing, but they must've recognised how completely boring everyone else there was, as they moved on pretty quickly.

Next morning we were away early. Camp-making and -breaking routines starting to bed in, efficiency improving. We stopped at The Harris Spruce, which was a big tree, then Janine drove us to Mesachie Lake (very pretty) and on to Skutz Falls (via a long and circuitous route, thanks to some awesome navigating from the co-pilot). Someone in the area is VERY keen to recover their three-legged dog, judging from the number of `Lost Dog` posters we saw. And the $1000 reward.

Either Skutz Falls should be called Skutz Minor Rapids, or we never actually found the place. Lunch was good though, despite someone (me) losing half the ingredients on the way from the van to the river. Saw our first snake and a bunch of kayakers, one of whom was wearing a face-guard which looked like Hannibal Lecter's muzzle. There were walkers with puppies, and once again we saw fisherpeople, including a young chap who, in order to not scare the fish away, removed his shining white t-shirt. Unfortunately for him, under his shining white t-shirt was a bunch of shining white skin. I don`t think the fish cared, though, as from our vantage point above him we could see them chasing his lure. Thought about telling him to wind in slower so they could catch it. Decided not to.

On our way back to the van we found our food. Hoorah!



* = Laziness + not wearing pants = Janine on 'dealing with humans' duty

** = I dragged a piece of the stuff with me for 4 hours before presenting it to Janine when I proposed to her, about 10 minutes before we reached a huge field full of it. She then told me was called broom, and was very common, but that it had been a truly lovely thought.

Being Helped, and Being Thrifty

If there is a karma bank where good deeds incur credits, then my sister's boyfriend must be one of the key account holders. He put HUGE amounts of know-how, ideas, and sheer hard work into our van, which was stunning enough - and then gave us his bed. He slept in a hammock in the shed for the duration of our stay. We tried to be of use, but found limited opportunities to do anything he couldn`t do quicker and better himself (in the end, and unsurprisingly, Janine did a bunch of stuff and I was no use whatsoever). He has the lights in his house on timers, so he doesn't need to bother turning them on or off (and can use their switching activity as cues for when to be awake or asleep), and has many plastic containers full of grapefruit segments in his fridge, because cooking and eating are time-consuming. Birds nest in the eaves of his house, which - like many of the many cars in his back yard - has parts in varying states of (re/de)-construction. We loved it. If anyone has any ideas on things we could do to say "thanks" to someone who can make pretty much anything from pretty much nothing, we'd love to hear from you.

The van got many new things (including shocks, as the old ones didn`t rebound from compression at all. The new ones are blue, and stand out vividly against the grey-brown, two-decades-of-grime undercarriage of the van), and has been running sweetly ever since (900km and counting). My favorite of the newly-installed features is the security system, which involves iron bars, big black locks*, and a garden gate. Various bits were welded to various parts of the van, and we can now disappear into the forest or town (or fish hatchery, or thrift store, or tent) without being overly-concerned for the safety of the van or its contents. And we've done all of those things, except the fish hatcheries, although we saw signs pointing the way to a number of them.

Went to a few thrift stores in Victoria, looking for clothes and utensils, and pretty much everything else. Picked a few things up here and there (Janine spent a few hours biking around with a whopping great big carving knife in her bag), but the highlight looked set to be the woman who told Janine that I was cute (Janine politely disagreed). And then we found Value Village. We were on our way out of Victoria at the time, which was good (we had the van) and bad (we ended up leaving REALLY late). For readers in NZ, imagine the biggest, most badass SaveMart you've been to, quadruple the size, then fill it with better stuff. I left with 5 t-shirts (culled from 20-something) and 3 pairs of pants. And a mutant squirrel thing. Janine acquired all the clothing items she was short of, along with pretty much all the stuff we needed for camping and hiking and general travelling. Except a mattress, which we still don't have, and a bike-hiding blanket with a quail on it, which we didn't know we needed until we saw it at a thrift store in Parksville**, 2 days and 200km later.


* = I`ve numbered the locks. There is a set of four, and two individuals. Best guess as to what the numbers are and why wins a prize***

** = The little old lady at the counter at this place was awesome. Unlike other places I've been, where they refuse to sell items with no price tag, this woman made up prices. We got pillows for 29c each, and the quail blanket for 49c. Wish I'd known before we got to the counter - I could have whipped the price tags off the hairy shoes and had them for a song

*** = May not involve a prize

Furry Goodness

Back on the boat, and heading for Vancouver Island again. It's something like 70% of the size of New Zealand's North Island, of which much is forest. And it has a tetanus outbreak gestating, apparently. Lucky we've both had recent bike carnage, then, or we'd be in need of a booster before heading into their woods. As it stands we're fine, but it did get us thinking about hepatitis and other exotic nasties, which we summarily failed to factor in during our trip (non-)planning phase. So, Hep-A immunizations await us on our return to Vancouver, which should make for amusing viewing as the equation for Nene tends to be something like: needle + blood = fall over sideways.

The second fat man to perch himself on the lifeboat storage locker outside our window has just been driven off by the rising windchill; we're picking up speed as we head into the Strait of Georgia. We arrived at the Tsawassen ferry terminal at 1230pm, which was pretty much bang on (revised) schedule despite minor lostness along the way. Not getting lost wouldn't have helped us get on the 1pm sailing, though, as not only was it full, the subsequent (3pm) sailing was already at 60% capacity. So, we sat and we read, and we reorganised some of our stuff, and we wrote, and ate, and chatted, and made lists of things we need and things we should do, and pretty soon our lane (41) was on the move onto the ferry.

We decided to come back to the Island for a number of reasons, including my sister's boyfriend's mechanical aptitude and the abundance of mountain-bike and hiking trails. Insofar as we've planned things, we're looking at a couple of days in Victoria, which will hopefully culminate in a sweeter-running and ready-for-action van-of-doom, then off into the wilderness. Our non-planning is such that we haven't yet looked at whether we're hitting the West Coast before hooking back up to the North, or whether we leave the West for another trip. Either way, we'll likely be hopping a boat back to the mainland in a week or two, and it'll probably be either Nanaimo - Horseshoe Bay or one of the ferries from Comox to places we haven't been yet. I think Nene's hoping we'll end up finding a place where I'm not such a knob, but I think we all know just how likely that is.

There are a lot of moustaches in this part of the world, some of which are awesome. Over here, though, it seems to be the men who have them.

Helpful

As an inherently altruistic and philanthropic person, I've started donating my expertise to people who need it.

One young fellow asked for assistance in selecting a mouthwash to use as part of his new oral hygiene regime. I told him that tabasco (or other hot sauce) mixed with mint (or other herbs) would do the trick better and cheaper than commercial mouthwashes, and can be swallowed after swirling around in the mouth, unlike the often-carcinogenic products on offer in stores.

Later, an 11-year-old wrote in asking for advice on how to deal with an unwelcome build-up of static electricity in his hair. I advised him to use the static electricity to recharge batteries (but to be careful to only feed it in through the negative terminal so the battery doesn't explode).

In other news, we bought a van! It is enormous and white and has a very stylish* brown-on-brown interior. We're heading to Vancouver Island tomorrow on a short-hop test of our van tourist aptitude and preparedness, with hopes of finding some nice XC-friendly trails to ride (and borrowing my sister's boyfriend's mechanical aptitude).

Hopefully the trails will be bear-free, because... we saw a bear - WE SAW A BEAR!!!! - two days back, and it was a) huge and b) a small specimen of the smallest local bear species. I decided at that point to avoid that chunk of trail for a while, but then accidentally rode down it yesterday. Bears may or may not shit in the woods, but I certainly was when I realised where I'd ended up.

* = may not be stylish

To the Is-land (sorry, Janet)

Up early yesterday and off to the Vancouver Island ferry (Tsawassen to Swarz Bay), which runs through some pretty small passages between some really pretty islands. Victoria feels a lot less American than Vancouver, although the diner we hit for lunch had enormous portions. And a waitress wearing not much. And a menu item called The Mahoney, which the menu described as "Whatever the chef feels like cooking for you" and cost either however much the meal cost or double or nothing depending on the outcome of the coin toss. The chef felt like cooking an enormous, delicious omelette. We lost the toss, despite flipping with the NZ10c piece.

First hockey game on TV was a win for the Vancouver Canucks (yay!) over the evil Chicago Blackhawks (boo!). I'm looking forward to watching my first hockey game on a TV large enough to render the puck visible, as I'm told that helps with figuring out what's going on - last night seemed a lot like a bunch of guys skating around shoulder-charging each other and hitting each other with sticks. Kind of like pro-wrestling on ice, but with a less-coherent plot and less visible undies.

Tomorrow we head north to the Nanaimo-Horseshoe Bay ferry, then it's bike- and van-buying interspersed with hockey games and dog-walking. And driving lessons, which should prove interesting. I'm still looking the wrong way before crossing the road. No incidents yet, but it's early days...

I left my heart on Craigflower Street (but I kept my wallet)

Vancouver Island, home of the world's most beautiful bike. Which I didn't buy, despite extreme provocation (Ibis Mojo SL, fully kitted-out with XTR components, in Trans Blue. CAD$7500 + tax* when we entered the store, CAD$5000 by the time we left).

Even writing about it now makes me really want to go back and buy the thing, but $CAD5000 + tax@5% = CAD$5250, which = NZ$7000, which is NZ$2000 more than we'd budgeted for my bike purchase. And if I'm not spending $CAD5000 on that bike, I'm sure as heck not spending CAD$4600 on the non-SL version with XT kit on it! So, I'm off tomorrow to buy a boring, comparatively cheap, more widely serviceable, Specialized Stumpjumper.

If we were staying in North Vancouver much longer I'd be buying an Enduro, if not something even bigger, because on Friday we picked up a demo bike for me (Ibis Mojo, non-SL, XT kit) and headed into the woods, onto the trails recommended by the guy in the shop**. Five and a half hours later we emerged from the forest, ragged, tired, and chilly. We'd ridden up the mountain on the access road, which was a nice wake-up call for legs too-long deprived of pedalling. Then we rode*** down a series of trails, starting with a black diamond run, because we're very stupid. Back up the access road, past where we turned the first time, and off the other side of the road, onto the Executioner trail. Which starts out flat then turns uphill, which is surprising, although it's sure to be a temporary thing. Or not. Small patches of snow started to appear, then progressively larger drifts. Soon we were riding/walking the bikes though shin-deep snow, climbing over deadfalls, and crossing meltwater gullies deeper than I am tall, with icy streams at the bottom. Sense eventually prevailed - although not before both of us had snow in our shoes and were smelling deliciously cedar-like form the trees we'd been scrambling over - and we headed back down the trail to the access road, where we found the start of the Executioner trail awaiting us, pretty much exactly where the map said it would be. A little bit of trail***, a little bit of road, and we were home for showers and food.




* = 5% on bikes and some other things, 7% on some other things, 12% on some other other things. Tax is never included in the listed price, which means regular till-side scrambles for more money, because the amount you've readied (like a good, polite NZ purchaser) is not enough to cover the extra

** = I'm still not sure whether shop-guy seriously thought those trails were good ones for us to hit, or whether he was taking the piss in an especially malicious fashion. Either way, I'm buying a bike elsewhere - especially after seeing him try to sell a $50 pump to a bloke buying a bike for his 5-year-old. The guy even said "Don't you just have a simple, standard, not fancy-pants**** pump for, like, 8 bucks?" - and places like Mountain Equipment Company (Kathmandu equivalent) DO have those, I've seen them. Hell, even places like Canadian Tyre (Warehouse equivalent) have bike pumps appropriate for a small person's bike tyre. It's not like they're going out into the Moab Desert on a two-day epic, where life and death hinge on being able to pump up a tyre in a sandstorm before the 40 degree heat makes them dead - they'll be noodling about the neighborhood, or the local forest pathways. Shop-guy should have told them. Shop-guy didn't. But then I guess shop-guy probably didn't want them to see how much less they could have spent on the bike itself, or on the helmet, or the sumo-wrestler horn.

*** = may have included more walking than riding

**** = may not have used the words "fancy-pants"