The Good, the Bad, the Ugly, and the Beautiful A Week’s Ramble on Canada’s Great Divide

Story and photos by Aaron Teasdale The path beneath our tires forked and, This trip would prove no exception. best!” I said to my father as we met by Finland together for fun. as always, I longed to take the path less It was our first day on the Canadian Great chance near the Goat Pond dam at the alter- It quickly became apparent the next traveled. The problem was we knew noth- Divide Route. Our group of four had pedaled nate route’s midpoint. “It’ll be great.” morning that Steve and I existed on oppo- ing about this overgrown trail that peeled out from the tourist-choked streets of Banff, But that’s the thing about rambles into site ends of the gear-packing spectrum. My off into the wilderness, except our Great Alberta that morning and I still clung to the unknown — they’re unknown. Like priority is ultralight; Steve’s is ultra-posh. Divide Mountain Bike Route map’s descrip- a goal of reaching an increasingly distant- a blind date, anything can happen. That’s I eschew panniers and trailers (too heavy), tion of it as an alternate route to Spray Lake seeming campsite that night. But, never part of the excitement. But blind dates can and consider a second pair of socks indul- Reservoir. Potentially very marshy. As some- being one to let the artifice of a schedule go horribly wrong (see: The Crying Game). gent. Steve stuffed his trailer with a camp one constitutionally incapable of sticking to interfere with a quality adventure, in the end With Dad at my side, the lovely grassy path chair, a full-sized pillow, several books, and, predetermined routes, I’m easily seduced by there was little suspense — I was powerless promptly turned into a much-less-lovely shockingly, four bags of wine. Fortunately, such things as “alternate routes,” especially to resist the alternate route. grassy bog. Pushing through marshes and he proved more than up to the task of car- when, like this one, they circumvent busy Bidding farewell to my father and our portaging our bikes across deep, fast-flowing rying the extra weight, and it didn’t take us and supernaturally dusty dirt roads. A pass- friends Ron and Steve, who didn’t share my brooks, the route had become a micro- long to see the beauty of having evening ing pair of mountain bikers — one with a enthusiasm for unknown and “potentially cosm of the potential and pitfalls of wilder- wine at camp. gashed shin, the other with what looked like very marshy” byways, I followed the over- ness detours. I’d gone from having sunny, Our second day’s ride was the finest of a freshly broken nose — knew nothing of grown trail down to Goat Creek, forded its Thoreau-like epiphanies to dragging my the trip and one of the best, most scenic rides the trail either, but enthusiastically offered, knee-high current, and was promptly alone father through a swamp in only a few short of my touring career. Here the Great Divide “What’s the worst that could happen?” in the wilderness. Pedaling a dry, rolling miles. That’s the thing with these explora- Route follows a deteriorating dirt road, now Wrong question (answer: broken things, doubletrack littered with wolf and moose tions — they’re never boring. gated and closed to cars, that wraps around grizzly bears). The right and tantalizing scat along the base of the Goat Range, the Our plan for the week ahead was to enjoy the west side of the mountain-ringed Spray question was, “What’s the best that could green forest corridor delivered on every a relaxed spin along the northern stretch of Tower of Power. There’s no missing the coal mines in British Columbia’s Elk Valley. Lake reservoir. Soon evolving into perfect happen?” How good and remote and inter- bit of its alternate-route promise. This is the world’s longest mountain-bike route, rid- ride farther in a week, but I’ve never been not only made us feel gratifyingly rugged, but touring singletrack, the route ducks into esting could it be? That’s the question that why I bike tour — gliding silently through ing 160-ish miles from Banff, Alberta south interested in simply riding a bike quickly helped put things in perspective. As we sat moist forest where wooden bridges delivered fuels my forays into the unknown. That’s wild country never fails as an invigorating to the coal-mining town of Sparwood, British through a place — I want to tromp up its on the lakeshore watching the last sunlight us across crystal-clear creeks, side explora- the eternal question that lures me into the reminder of the raw beauty of life and our Columbia, primarily through mountain val- mountainsides, loll on its riverbanks, and kiss the eastern summits, Dad said, “It’s a tions led to hidden waterfalls, and one off- hinterlands, to glory and disaster, to a trip’s insignificance in its vast, timeless theater. leys, with one crossing of the Continental explore its hidden folds and creases. pretty good day when the worst thing that route ramble (like I said: constitutionally best and worst moments, again and again. “C’mon, Dad, the alternate route is the Divide at the trip’s midpoint. Sure, we could We made a fire with driftwood that eve- happens is the stove not working.” We all incapable) brought me a glimpse of a moun- ning near our campsite on the pebbly shore agreed that this was true. I decided not to tain lion disappearing into the woods. of Banff National Park’s Spray Lake, short of mention our battle with the marsh, which As we climbed up and away from the my goal, but — with a sprawling cerulean was already feeling less disastrous and more reservoir on a wildflower-lined doubletrack pool in front of us, peaks on all sides, and heroic with each passing hour. in the evening’s golden light, we discussed the lakeshore to ourselves — it was so over- Dad and I have been taking backcountry where to camp. “We camp where we camp,” whelmingly beautiful that I couldn’t have trips every summer since I was 10 years old. Dad said. “We’ve got no agenda — we’re on cared less. The fire was not only lovely and a For many of those years, Ron, my father’s best vacation.” The downside of this otherwise great place to dry my and Dad’s soggy shoes, friend and a died-in-the-wool New Yorker, has appealingly carefree philosophy was revealed but necessary for dinner — we’d discovered joined us and provided both intentional and when we overshot the reservoir’s campsites, shortly after arriving that our camp stove unintentional comic relief. Steve was a newer savagely bonked in search of a decent place was completely nonfunctional. (Note to self: friend of my father’s. A 65-year-old cycling to pitch our tents, and finally gave up, sleep- check campstoves before weeklong trips.) maniac, he and my father were geezer-athlete ing ingloriously off the side of a dirt road. Cooking Boy Scout–style over an open flame kindred spirits who did things like ski across Unfortunately there are no alternate

Waterside cruising. It doesn’t get any better than the riding along Alberta’s Spray Lake Reservoir.

12 a d v e n t u r e c y c l i s t j u l y / a u g u s t 2008 adventurecycling . o r g a d v e n t u r e c y c l i s t j u l y / a u g u s t 2008 adventurecycling . o r g 13 whipped up a gourmet (by our remarkably low standards) freeze-dried dinner in no time, savored our cup of wine, jumped naked into the lake to rinse off the day’s copious dust, and watched the sunset paint the cir- rus-streaked sky blazing rose before tucking into our down cocoons and nylon shelters for the night. I was hopeful for the next day, as the route promised to deliver us from the tourist’s wilderness of Alberta national parks to what I hoped would be the more remote wilderness of British Columbia’s Elk Valley. The next day, the fourth of the trip, delivered a climb up what our map all- too-accurately described as “a virtual wall” over the 6,443-foot Elk Pass and across the Continental Divide. (“What’s this?” Ron said. “No one said anything about a virtual wall.”) The route here follows a powerline corridor which had been recently buzzed of all trees — as a certified nature geek who relishes escaping the hum of modern soci- ety, I did not celebrate this. But powerlines or no, by coming over Elk Pass we’d left the RVs behind and now stood on the brink of another world. The head of Elk Valley is over 40 miles of dirt road from the nearest town, and for the first time since the little-traveled shores of Spray Lake, it felt as if we were someplace remote and out of easy reach. This was good. Even better was that the head of the valley harbors Elk Lakes Provincial Park, a hidden gem of the Canadian park system. Camping there, on the shores of Elk Lake, proved the finest single decision of our trip. A magnificent sprawl of high mountains Above the spray. A wooden bridge in Banff National Park allows Ron and Harold to cross the Spray River. draped with glaciers that feed pure mirror- routes — yet — for the dusty and heav- stove of some kind. Cooking over fires was as everyone looked at me. I had to admit it surfaced lakes, it’s wilderness at its most ily travelled Smith-Dorrien Road that links slow and took away our drive to have lovely would make cooking easier. Plus, Steve was awe inspiring. Banff National Park to Peter Lougheed things like morning tea. What we found at willing to carry it. Besides our self-respect, Since staying there forever wasn’t a prac- Provincial Park. (Good news: a local trails the Belton Store challenged our deeply held what did we have to lose? Dad, defeated, ticable option, we decided on two nights and organization is working on a trail extension moral principles and nearly caused a fracture shook his head in Coleman-induced dismay spent our layover day hiking to the foot of from Lougheed that would offer an entic- in the group. It was a Coleman stove. A and muttered, “After all that work to get a giant glacier-melt waterfall, Petain Falls. ing alternative.) The mountain scenery is large, heavy stove with a full-size burner lighter.” As we finished off Steve’s wine around the head-spinningly great enough that it’s easy that screwed onto the top of a football-sized As we apportioned one of Steve’s wine campfire that night, Dad said, “The problem to forget you’re on a crappy road — until propane canister. I showed it to my father, bags that night at our hike-in campsite on the with places like this is that you want every another air-conditioned car of tourists blasts who had been making an effort to join me in shore of Kananaskis Lake (a stunning return place you go to be as nice.” by and sends a sun-blotting, nostril-clogging, ultralighthood. to campsite glory after our unimpressive digs I agreed there weren’t many places as eyeball-coating dust cloud into you. “No way,” he said instantly. “I can’t buy of the previous evening), Ron saw the tower- nice as this. “I’m just looking for places that Fortunately, once we reached Lougheed that.” ing Coleman camp stove for the first time. are unspoiled,” I said. “Places that still have Park a paved off-road bike path led us on At this point, Steve walked up, saw the “Wow, look at that!” he said. “Now some wildness in them.” Minutes later, as a deliciously serpentine route through the stove, and said, “Well, yes, we’re getting that’s a stove! Better than that wussy stove if on cue, a bull moose lumbered through woods to the Belton General Store, a typical that. I’ll carry it. That’s a nice stove.” you brought, Aaron.” a small meadow and bedded down not 100 tourist shop where we hoped to find a camp Dad resisted and there was a silent pause Admittedly, the stove did rock. We yards from our campsite.

14 a d v e n t u r e c y c l i s t j u l y / a u g u s t 2008 adventurecycling . o r g a d v e n t u r e c y c l i s t j u l y / a u g u s t 2008 adventurecycling . o r g 15 The next morning we loaded up the in the same valley, but we were a world away travel enlightening — you experience it all: side and led us under the concrete silos and bikes and headed down the Elk Valley Nuts & Bolts: Great Divide Canada from Elk Lakes Park. the beautiful and the scarred, the tragic and smokestacks of a coal-washing station. It Road. Bordered on both sides by mountains Battling despair, I walked to the far end of the inspired. And there we were, sitting on was jarring there, surrounded by forest and vaulting 5,000 feet from the valley floor, the When to go Resources the meadow where I found a campsite just the ground and taking it all in, four more mountain, and we didn’t linger. Elk Valley is both rugged wilderness and, Mid-June through September Mount Engadine Lodge out of Aerosmith range. A decrepit picnic people in this wild toss of mountains, rivers, Soon after, the route turned onto a dirt thanks to huge coal deposits and a thick is your prime window. (www.mountengadine.com, table slumped into tall grass and a yellow mines, and 70s rock. road where we met a man in a well-used Ford blanket of timber, home to a host of miners 403-678-4080) is a cyclist- road grader sat parked about 50 feet away, We slept well that night to the sounds Bronco. His tanned face radiated enthusiasm and loggers. As we gradually pedaled down Getting there friendly backcountry ref- but there were good tent sites that over- of the river — until 6 a.m. when someone and, after almost hopping through the roof the valley, passing a pickup truck now and We drove, left a van in uge near the foot of Spray looked the river. It would do. As evening revved up the road grader outside our tents. of his truck telling us about all the great again, smoke began clouding the air. We Sparwood, and Kootenay Lakes Reservoir. cooled the smoky air, and we washed up My bitterness over this subsided, however, camping in the area, he asked us the last would later learn a forest fire was flaming out Taxi (www.kootenaytaxi. in the river and cooked over the towering as soon as I emerged to the sight of a blue, thing I expected: “Have you gone up the of control in the mountains to our west. A com, 250-423-4409) Gear stove, our outlook improved. We took in smokeless sky. After a fine instant-oatmeal road to see the mine yet?” ranger in Lougheed had told us that Alberta shuttled us to Banff. If fly- A review of gear for the the aspen-ringed meadow, the mountains breakfast, we jumped on the bikes for the When I answered no, that we weren’t was closing the mountains on their side of ing to Calgary, check the Great Divide can be found beyond, and the curves of the river below. last full day of the trip, the Elk River Road interested in seeing the mountain-devour- the Continental Divide, the mountains to Great Divide pages at www. at: www.adventurecycling. A kingfisher flew by and swallows darted delivering us into the prefab-suburb-plopped- ing ecological disaster zone (shortened, our east, to all human entry because of fire adventurecycling.org for org/gearforgdr. across the surface of the water, gulping in-the-wilderness mining company town of politely, to “no”), he said, with no letdown danger. Fortunately for us, British Columbia other shuttle options. insects and singing swallow songs. The Elkford, where the route led us out of the in enthusiasm, “You should go up there! It’s had banned only campfires. coal mine became interesting, the rocker valley bottom and into the eastern foothills. something to see.” A long day of riding — with more pow- we pushed on, everyone tired and worn out, and now surely deaf — inhabitants of the children played on a rope swing, and I began Our wheels rolled past bits of coal on the It was a surprising collision of world- erlines, buzzing helicopters of unknown ori- to what the trusty map described as a “nice shadowy camper did not emerge from their to realize that maybe it doesn’t all have to be roadside, as a steep road — paved smooth views. He had nothing but pride in some- gin, fresh logging clearcuts, ever-thickening meadow.” When we reached it we found a rocking lair. I was crestfallen. As a certi- pristine. And maybe that’s what makes bike for the mining trucks — climbed the valley’s continued on page 38 smoke, and temperatures in the high 80s very nice meadow indeed — inhabited by fied campsite snob, this was my worst-case (which always saps my will to live) — had a beat-up camper truck that seemed to be scenario. Surveying the land around us, I me fuming over these industrialized wild- functioning as a kind of giant speaker for realized why the mountain across the river lands and left all of us desperate for a decent pounding 70s rock. Three dirty-faced chil- looked funny — the entire top of it had been campsite. After several “recreation sites” dren played on a rope swing and marveled flattened. It was a coal mine, a mountain- turned out to be trash-strewn and shoddy, over our bicycles, but the mysterious — decapitating coal mine. We may have been

16 a d v e n t u r e c y c l i s t j u l y / a u g u s t 2008 adventurecycling . o r g a d v e n t u r e c y c l i s t j u l y / a u g u s t 2008 adventurecycling . o r g 17 continued from page 17 that could live on in our memories long after forest fire just the previous day. But neither thing I saw as a calamitous blight. Surely it the trip had ended. It was no small order, Dad nor I have ever been what you would Open Road Gallery helped that his entire community was on the this last night’s campsite, and we had already call big “rule people.” In the end, after I mine’s payroll, but he clearly loved the out- rejected the Bronco guy’s recommended implored the group for several minutes, doors as much as I did and our split on the sites as too hemmed in and well used. common sense prevailed. We started a fire. unity on the divide mine was a good reminder that we all view Then the overgrown road emerged from the Extremely carefully, of course. In an area the landscape through a personal lens. It was woods to the edge of a high, grassy bench, cleared of vegetation with rock retaining by Sarah Raz Photograph by Greg Siple only later that I would learn that coal mined studded with cinnamon-barked ponderosas walls for safety. And our dinner was saved. in the Elk Valley is metallurgical coal used and overlooking the twisting river 100 feet It was the best dinner of the trip, too, in the production of steel — meaning we below and the mountain front beyond. The munched with gusto on the lip of the bench couldn’t get too bent out of shape about the concrete silos of another coal mine in the while herons floated over the river below. As mine’s imposition on the wilderness when distant valley bottom even seemed ironically we took in the landscape and the mountain our bicycles might not exist without it. appropriate. Another “side-cut” had paid off. faces reflecting the sunset’s glow, it occurred There was certainly no denying the beau- We’d found our site. to me that the beauty of these journeys is ty of the valley we pedaled that afternoon. After pitching tents on the edge of the simply being out in the open vastness of the It was a glorious cruise — our best day of precipice, we found that the evening had world, the expanse a sharp contrast, even an riding since Spray Lake — as a downward- another adventure in store as we watched, antidote, to the walled-in, climate-controlled trending, wildflower-lined road undulated horror-stricken, while our stove’s mega- nature of our regular lives. We drank deeply along the side of Fording River, finally cross- canister of fuel slowly and steadily sputtered of the mountains that evening as we relaxed ing it and bringing us to our last great tan- out. Given its tremendous size, we’d naively on the bench, soaking in the elixir of the gential temptation. A little-used track veered assumed, like loggers and hunters of centu- wilderness with the extra relish and hint off the main road into thick forest. Our map ries past, that it could never run out. Now of melancholy that flavors the final night of showed it as Line Road, and it appeared to we were stuck with uncooked and highly every bicycle adventure. hew close to the river and reconnect with anticipated tortillas, sausage, instant beans, As we packed our bags at camp the next the main route farther on. The entrance may and taco seasoning we’d hauled up from the morning, I said, “Well, guys, should we just say ‘to heck with it’ and keep riding the route all the way to Mexico?” “Gosh, wouldn’t that be fun?” Dad said. “It sure would,” said Steve. “Only if I can take a bath first,” added Ron. Over 2,500 miles of Great Divide Route Ro g e r Co x is 59 a n d Ka t h y Co x is 65, b u t n e i t h e r is q u i t e r e a d y t o s e t t l e d o w n to serene eve- lay to our south, beckoning, with their nings of bridge clubs and sewing circles. The couple cycled the entire Great Divide Mountain Bike countless opportunities for exploration, Route in 1998 in two and one-half months, and decided in 2007, when this photo was taken, that the heartbreak, and inspiration — half a conti- route was definitely worth a second run. Unfortunately, a friend they were traveling with was injured nent laid bare. But they would have to wait; along the way, so Roger and Kathy decided to finish up their second Great Divide ride in Steamboat our ride was coming to an end. (No alternate Springs, Colorado. The couple is happy to report, though, that nine years after their first Great Divide route we’d yet found could deliver us from ride, they could still average 35 to 40 miles a day. our workaday world back in the land of elec- Kathy and Roger love cycling together, and as a team they’ve had many adventures. The couple tricity and walls.) As we pushed off for the met on a Colorado Mountain Club ride up Mt. Evans that Roger was leading. One of their favorite final time of the trip, a hawk cried out from expeditions was an 800-mile mountain-bike loop tour of the Salmon River Basin, featuring a 10-day its treetop perch and flew along with us, as if stretch without the opportunity to re-supply. They credit their ability to work well together with saying goodbye, while roadside moose prints their similar riding speeds (“We’re never in a hurry,” they wrote in their Great Divide trip report. Longing for heads. Three helmets watch forlornly as their vulnerable owners enjoy wine at camp. turned to horse prints turned to sidewalk as “There are too many things to experience.”), their shared love of challenge, and a mutual adoration have been overgrown, the guy in the Bronco grocery store in Elkford. We let the tragic we followed backroads into Sparwood and of all things food-related: “We never pass up the opportunity to stop at a café.” may have looked blankly at the map when consequences sink in for a minute before the our van. Then, all that was left was the easy A passion for possibility dominates Kathy and Roger’s excursions, which is perhaps one reason I’d shown it to him, but, as we all knew by debate began: to build a fire or not? highway drive back to Missoula. There were they’ve chosen to ride the scenically-stunning yet physically-arduous Great Divide Route not once, now, to resist it was futile. We pushed in. Sure, campfires were banned and the just a couple side roads I wanted to check but one-and-a-half times. “One of the best things about mountain-bike touring is that you don’t The air cooled in the shadowy forest, ripe grass, twigs, and trees around us were dan- out along the way ... know each day exactly what you will see and do,” they write. “We don’t usually know where we’ll thimbleberries lined the trail, and we pedaled gerously dry. And, yes, the entire mountain be camping because there are so many options.” and pushed into the unknown. Being the range a few short miles to the east was closed When not occupied as deputy editor of this maga- From Adventure Cycling’s National Bicycle Touring Portrait Collection. © 2008 Adventure Cycling Association. last night of our trip, we were on a special to all human entry because of fire danger. zine, Aaron Teasdale can be found (with great quest for the right campsite, a grand camp- And we had to admit that we’d been riding difficulty) exploring remote places with family and site, a site with views over mountain vistas through the smoke of an obviously large friends.

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