Chapter 3: Island libraries and cinnamon rolls

Sediments of land sea and sky

I wish to acknowledge the First Nations whose land I am currently travelling on and through, specifically the Coast Salish peoples whose traditional territories lie in the southeastern areas of Vancouver Island.

Hello everyone! With two weeks of North America under my wings, things are feeling a bit more manageable and exciting now. I’ve eased in to the realities of cycle touring, This trip is teaching me to take one day at a time, to be patient and trust that things will work out.

There’s currently a heat wave churning through the Pacific Northwest, which is testing my hydration habits and Fahrenheit to Celcius conversion skills. Despite the heat, it still feels like the prelude to summer as places are on the brink of bustling and buzzing, just not quite yet. I’ve said see ya to Canada for a bit (don’t worry, I’ll be back!) and am curious to see what the US has in store...

After a wobbly start on Vancouver Island, I decided it was time to recalibrate. What better way to do that than to escape to another even smaller island? I decided on Salt Spring Island, one of the southern Gulf Islands between Vancouver Island and the Mainland. Not sure what it is, but I’m noticing a pattern in my travels: visiting smaller islands. The Faroe Islands, Canary Islands, Rakiura, and now Salt Spring.

Getting to the ferry terminal in Crofton was the ultimate test of navigation, weaving between a decent bike path I’d found earlier and the Trans Canada Highway. Highway cycling can be one of two things: thrilling, or absolutely tedious. Strangely, I don’t let the potential for a small margin of error get to me when I’m on the road shoulder.

Crofton, a welcoming place

I stopped off for coffee at Chemainus, a small town known for its many murals. Still getting used to the North American self-serve coffee situation, I accidentally poured cream into my cup from the jug I thought contained the coffee, until the cafe staff guided me to the right place.

The ferry crossing zipped by with not even enough time to sneakily make use of the power outlets. BC Ferries are awesome by the way! Shout out to BC Ferries, they’re so chill and bike friendly. Stepping onto the wharf at Salt Spring I could already feel my heart rate slowing a bit. I knew this would be what I needed to re-gain a sense of adventure.

With much time on my hands (time is wonderfully abundant at the moment) I took a very hilly detour to Ganges, the main town on Salt Spring. This gave me a good sense of the land. The hills and sheep reminded me of New Zealand a bit (I was later told by the guy at the bike shop that the northern part of the island was once part of the same slab of land as NZ - I haven’t been able to verify this though…) Salt Spring is like a little Waiheke Island: a few vineyards, alternative ways of living and a solid community spirit. Maybe they were once part of the same piece of land?

First Nations names for Salt Spring Island, the traditional territories of the Coast Salish peoples

After splurging on ice cream in Ganges, I checked in to my campsite for the next two nights at a place called Garden Faire, which Shannon had suggested earlier. It was a plant nursery and campground all in one, although I did not encounter any resident fairies. The campground is really a maze of shady terraced camp sites nestled amongst towering pines. In other words, an oasis. Even the long drop toilet (or pit toilet as they say here) had mood lighting.

Despite the campsite being quiet during the day, I woke up to some sounds at night. Not to the slam of a door or human voices, but to a wild cacophony of frogs ribbitting their little heads off. I saw a sign next to the campground of a frog farm that had relocated, so my theory is that some of the frogs had escaped and started their own commune there. Good for them, I thought, but good thing I have ear plugs.

The next day was technically a rest day (well rest morning), so I didn’t get up when my alarm bleeped at 6.30am. I spent the morning cruising around Ganges, making an all-important pit stop at Salt Spring public library for a couple of hours to charge my phone and hatch the next day’s plan. People watchers’ travel hack: public libraries are the best spots, in my opinion, to get a sense of a place and its people. The conversations you overhear give glimpses into the happenings and who’s who of a town, and whose books are overdue (the librarians rang people up to let them know if their books are due back!) I love the many social functions libraries serve.

Tempted to sit in the library for the whole day, I remembered there was a whole Island to explore. After lunch I hopped on the bike and rode out to the southern end of the island to an idyllic spot called Beaver Point. I cycled through a ‘heritage farm’: a turkey ran along the road with a cracked egg in its mouth, and lambs scratched their backs along the bike lock racks. I also noted the many many produce stands along the roads. This island must have more farm stands than any other island per capita. Everyone seems to own a small farm here.

Black Sheep Books + dog

The highlight of the day came when, spontaneously, I decided to for a sunset walk. I powered up and up and up a hill, racing the sun as it set deeper into the earth, but my pace eventually paid off: a view of Vancouver island, Salt Spring, and the mainland all in one set on a purple sky. I’m starting to see the beauty more and more here.

Sunset from Mt Erskine

The next morning I waited until the bike shop in Ganges opened, so I could jump in and ask about Sirocco’s latest clicking noise. The guy there confirmed it was probably the bottom bracket that needed replacing. Had I not done a big of googling the day before (and came go the same conclusion), I wouldn’t know what a bottom bracket is. I’m started to think I should have taken a bike mechanics course before I left haha. The noise wasn’t unsafe, he said, just annoying. Off I clicked, transforming the noise into a metronome and singing along to the beat.

Back on Vancouver Island I pedalled inland, making my way to Lake Cowichan. I was determined to get to the west coast having missed out on going to Tofino, the must-see spot on the island, due to the rain and my grumpiness. The multi-use Cowichan Valley Trail provided a welcome relief off the roads again, but as it followed an old rail line, it was essentially one straight long line for 25km. Nevertheless, the path was still fun to ride and it was great to see all the locals our enjoying the trail, too.

Rolling into Lake Cowichan (the town centre, not literally into the lake), I met a family of four on their bikes who looked like they’d been on the road for a while. One of the family members (the dad I presume) had a mountain of stuff piled on the back of his bike that towered as high as his head. It made me feel like an ultra-light bikepacker in comparison. We smiled and said hi as we rolled past each other. A little solidarity with the few other cyclists out there went a long way, as I’ve been feeling quite lonely as a cyclist lately.

The welcome sign was a welcome sight

Eventually, I made it to the large, forested campsite at Gordon Bay. The trees that the sites were set in were so tall and spindly that once again I was reminded of my smallness. I choose a spot next to a family with a border collie who were playing lively music. (To save battery, I haven’t listened to music in a while so will take any opportunity to capitalise on someone else’s power usage). Every time the dog ran past, I thought it was a bear. Still no bear sightings though!

As I rolled out the next morning, with three layers and gloves on, the lake was cloaked in mist but I could see patches of blue sky. Chugging up the logging road en route to Port Renfrew was hot work and soon I unfurled from my many layers. The road was surprisingly quiet, except for the odd logging truck that rumbled past. Most of the truck road warning signs were covered by messages of protest: LAND BACK. NO OLD GROWTH. others were covered by ❤️🌲 . Someone had been busy getting their voice heard, and I was so here for it.

Feeling insignificant in the trees

The fun thing about climbing up on the bike is the guarantee of the Downhill Whizz. Once back near sea level, I stopped off to say hi to a famous tree, the Harris Creek Sitka Spruce, which has got to be the most gigantic tree I’ve ever met. It’s 61 metres tall and thought to be 800 years old. Then, moments later, I passed the opposite: a ‘fairy tree’, a stunted douglas fir growing alone on a rock in the middle of the lake at the height of about half a metre. An island of contrasts!

This mighty Harris creek Sitka spruce, a legend of the forest

Arriving at the west coast brought much relief. I ate lunch sitting the the midst of a messy sprawl of driftwood. The road onwards dragged me back up to the ridgeline 200 metres above the water. Height means views, however, and the panorama stretched out of the Olympic Mountains in the US did not disappoint. The undulations carried on for a while, before dropping back down to sea level where I stopped for the day, at Jordan River. The sea breeze was blowing steadily, but I found a little sheltered spot.

At 4.01am, a loud crash in the bush next to my tent startled me awake. This was it, I thought. This is my bear-or-wolf-outside-the-tent moment. I hadn’t put my food far enough away. My mind and racing heart went to many scary places in the moments after that noise. A dog barked, but then silence. Something had wandered around my tent, but I’ll never know what it was. I went back to sleep.

Sirocco ft driftwood

Despite the scare in the night, the morning was calm and the sun met the sea for the start of a gorgeous bluebird day. I ate my porridge while straddling a big piece of driftwood overlooking the incoming tide and, in the distance, the Olympic mountains in Washington State. A pod of seals twirled past in the water, out for their morning aqua jog.

Vancouver Island’s west coast to the left, meeting the Olympic Peninsula on the right

The next stretch was of two halves: 32km of road riding, and then 41km on the Galloping Goose trail, a multi-use trail that, like the Cowichan Valley Trail, follows an old rail line. Great name, eh! These trails make up the Trans Canada trail, one looooong continuous path that’s being built across the gigantic slab of land that is Canada. It may have planted a seed in my head…

The road undulated through more lush forest, occasionally treating me to a glimpse of the snowy mountains across the Juan de Fuca Strait. The town of Sooke was up next, a rather average place with beautiful surrounds but busy roads. After failing to find a pleasant-enough cafe for a mid-morning brake, I inhaled some energy bars and continued on the road, soon turning off to the Galloping Goose.

The galloping goose was so well sign-posted

The Goose was a much-needed respite from the heat of the day. Most of it provided dappled shade and apart from the occasional hairy brake-testing gravel dip, it was a flat and well-used path. It passed lakes and a good chunk of outer Victoria suburbia.

I was so hungry that day I breezed through the rest of my wraps and dunked each bit straight into the peanut butter jar. PB consumption has reached new heights on this trip, I’m quite impressed with myself! Might need to carry a 5kg bucket next trip. I’ve also been craving sugar at surprising frequencies.

Soon the trail ran parallel to the highway and then entered Victoria’s sunny harbour. Victoria lies on the traditional territories of the Lekwungen-speaking Coast Salish peoples. I was curious about this city, having once pondered whether to apply to study at the University of Victoria (not to be confused with Victoria University of Wellington lol).

Entering downtown, I was met by police controlling traffic on the streets, standing in front of a wall of protestors. ‘ABORTION KILLS’, one of the signs read. One of the leaders shouted: ‘what do we want?’ To which there was an almost-inaudible murmur in response from the crowd. The anti-abortion protestors (of which there were many high school kids in the same uniform) made their way down to the waterfront. It was a shame, because I wanted to go relax by the waterfront to use time before check-in. I watched as people on the side shouted pro-choice messages in response.

After checking in to the backpackers, Ocean Island Inn (with signage and decor stuck in 2004), I followed my nose and came across a vegan bakery selling donuts and huge cinnamon rolls rivalling the size of the Harris Spruce tree: even better, two for the price of one. My sugar cravings once again took over and I ate one of them on the sunny and now quiet waterfront, being a tourist watching tourists.

Really should have taken a picture of that cinnamon roll, but here’s one of the protest instead

The sun held up over the next day as I cycled around the outer suburbs of Victoria en route to explore the university campus. I thought Wellington had some good seafront views, but wow maybe Victoria takes the cake on this one! Each corner brought a new mountain to marvel at. The seaside route took me through wealthy suburbs drenched in signs of the city’s monarchist/colonial history. It was everywhere: I passed a gated house that someone had named The Maylord, and every second street seemed to be named after a princess or king.

Mountains for days along Victoria’s coast

After walking around the UVic campus for a bit, I headed back into town and dropped Sirocco off at the free bike parking valet they have set up in town in a disused parking building. It’s such a good initiative and looks really popular with locals. Sirocco would be in good hands as I wandered the city. I had the most amazing falafel wrap for lunch, which I could have eaten 5 of. The rest of the day was filled with strolling around and picking up some food for the next couple of days, during which I’d cross over from kilometres to miles, Celsius to Fahrenheit, maple leaves to stars. It was time to explore the US of A.

Juxtaposition

Tune in next time to hear about Washington State and the emerald city itself, Seattle!