Chapter 9: rest and reunions
Hello everyone! You’ll notice that there’s little cycling that happened in this chapter. The past few weeks have been incredibly social, at least relative to other, more solitary parts of my trip. My social cup has been filled up to a perfect amount to last me a couple of weeks travelling mostly alone through the Rockies (apart from Shannon and Sarah - can’t wait to see you soon!). I hope you’re still interested in reading about the other things I’ve been up to in the meantime, such as crossing back over to Canada (goodbye, USA) and making new family and friends.
Until now, travelling has felt like a bottomless cup of coffee, with me taking the refills for granted. Now, from the crest of this temporal mound, the halfway mark, I can appreciate that not every day will be punctuated by the rhythm of pedal strokes and new views. That makes each day of cycling, the three weeks I have left of the cycling part of this journey before notcycling in Europe, feel all the more special.
The ferry ride back to Juneau from Skagway spoilt us with more mountains upon mountains on either side of the Lynn Canal. An overtaking cruise ship dwarfed us at one stage and came so close that we could see some passengers peering down at us from the deck. A movie was playing on the big outside screen, but I couldn’t make out which one it was. My puzzle book was better anyway. In the thick blue waters near Juneau, a few humpback whales said hello to a captive audience if us ferry-goers on the deck. When we got back on land at 10.30pm, the post-summer solstice sun was still blazing bright.
After a week of pedal-powering through the mountains, my body was so ready for not doing much. Over the next few days, I rested and ate and repeated. It took a few days to feel a little more rejuvenated, and once my body had given me the tick of approval to consider moving again, Jodie and I went on a few more run/hikes up to a few log cabins in the local area. The cabins are like DOC huts in NZ, only these ones you book just for your own group. I took inspiration from their feel and architecture for my future tiny house fantasy, built to survive bitter winters and smelling of sweet cedar wood inside. One of the cabin’s pit toilet /long drop was quite beautiful, actually, as it had star and moon-shaped holes carved into the door for ventilation.
One of the groups who voluntary maintains these trails and cabins in Juneau, Trail Mix, have placed little stamp booths where hikers can exchange collected stamps for visiting certain trails for a pint of beer or ice cream. A cool initiative to get people out on the trails, I thought!
One evening we went over to Jodie’s parents for a very homely dinner. Jodie’s mum, Kristy, made a delicious mushroom casserole, and John told stories about working as a doctor in Kenya. They had many stories to tell, too, about the 10 years they spent living on their boat they’d bought in NZ and sailed around the Pacific in.
While I’d originally booked the three-day Alaska Marine Highway ferry back to the Lower 48, it had been cancelled due to mechanical issues. At first I was a little disappointed, given that camping on a boat deck might have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. In the end, though, all was well — I booked a flight and bus back to Vancouver, saving both time and money.
Packing up and saying bye to Jodie and Juneau was difficult, as every time is with you’ve been made to feel so at home. It was time to adventure back to Canada for the next stage of the journey: a family reunion in Vancouver (more on that soon!) and then into the Rockies and Calgary. Jodie and her dog George dropped me off at the airport and helped drag my bike box into the bag drop area. I wished Jodie safe travels for her upcoming trip to France, and joked we’d see each other at Heathrow airport next, as we’d be there within a day of each other later in July.
The flight to Seattle and bus to Vancouver were both as smooth as they could have been. I was really impressed with Alaska Airlines, they handed out free snacks that rivalled Air New Zealand’s, and have a policy to get luggage out 20 minutes after landing. Sure enough, both my pack and oversized bike box came out with great efficiency at Seattle Airport.
I found a quiet corner to reassemble Sirocco and was relieved that, while the box had seen better days, the bike was unscathed. We wheeled to the light rail and caught the train into King Street Station, a place I’d become fondly familiar with over the past six weeks with all the comings and goings of train travel. Everything had run so on time that I managed to squeeze on to the earlier bus departing for Vancouver, saving a few hours of waiting around at the station. Sirocco even had their own compartment in the luggage storage under the bus! First class.
It turns out I’d just scraped into the very last seat of the bus, so while it was a slightly claustrophobic ride, I can’t really complain. Weaving through Washington State rush hour traffic had its slow moments, but we arrived in Vancouver not too late after our ETA. Sirocco and I were picked up from the station by Peter (my dad’s cousin who had also arrived that same day from NZ), Rob, and Sarah, one of Rob and Becky’s daughters (I really need a little diagram for everyone!) We drove back to Becky and Rob’s place in a beautiful leafy suburb near UBC, a day before the family reunion.
Just like that, I found myself right back where I’d landed two months earlier: on a scorching day in Vancouver (it’s hard to believe that it usually rains here). Being back brought with it incredibly vivid memories of my first entry into the city, sweatily navigating the industrial roads from Vancouver Airport to the hostel on a bike with half-inflated tyres and an un-cooperative google maps.
Back then, I was in an entirely different state of mind, dominated by anxiety; understandably so, with many unknowns scattered throughout the coming months of travelling around with a bike. But as my friend Sylvie reminded me, everything is difficult before it is easy. It’s not always easy now — sometimes it is easier than before — but I’ve certainly relaxed into the rhythms of cycle touring as I’ve collected more and more experiences along my travels. Right now, I’m feeling more capable and calm than anxious. It’s important to note that change, I think.
In those first few days, returning to Vancouver in July for the family reunion felt like a light year away. Yet how fast it had come around, the time filled between these two markers with the richest stories of the social and natural worlds of the Pacific Northwest and Alaska that have been filling my soul and heart and mind and body.
The Stewarts, whose family reunion it was and who warmly opened their arms to me, are related to us (the Kers) through my great great great grandparents, some of whose descendants moved to Canada and then New Zealand from Scotland. It’s so valuable to have family members who hold and carry and share this knowledge, and thanks to Peter for connecting us!
Over the weekend I met more of my third cousins and their families, many of whom are a similar age to me. We dined and brunched together and went for botanical and forest walks. Sarah and I cycled around, too, making the most of the sun and bikes and amazing bike paths in Vancouver (I’m looking at you, Arbutus Greenway). The highlight for me was dragon boating on Sunday morning, along False Creek (one of the central waterways in the city) with 20 of my Canadian family members. Becky, who is super experienced at dragon boating and competes at high levels, led us on the boat and did a great job of making us feel very pro and capable. We didn’t do too shabbily! As someone who doesn’t naturally gravitate towards water, I was surprised at how fun and meditative it was to paddle together. Our steerer did an excellent job of preventing us crashing into any yachts or aqua taxis.
At one of the group dinners, a handwritten family tree from 1993 was hung up that showed the layers of generations back to our mutual ancestor, Francis Beattie. Not only was the reunion a chance to meet current relatives, but also to understand a bit more about where we all come from. Each branch is a piece of our life tapestries, and while piecing these together is a lifetime project, I now feel a little more aware about our past. Also, doesn’t looking at family trees make the mind boggle how one pair of people can produce so many people over time…
Although we’d only known each other for a short time, it didn’t take long to feel so at home with my newfound family. In many ways I was an outsider looking in to a family, but never felt disconnected. As a family of teachers and travellers (some striking parallels!) the Stewart family members and I had lots and lots to talk about. They were encouraging of my PhD topic (not always the cheeriest thing to bring up) and wished me well. I hope they know our invitation to visit NZ will always be open, and I can’t wait to welcome anyone who’d like to make the journey down!
With the reunion wrapped up and with many new relationships forged, it was time to prepare for the next little ride: a three-night trip up to Whistler and back before catching the train to Jasper. It was a relatively last-minute decision to travel north on the Sea to Sky highway, as it’s known, but Whistler has a reputation for being a fun and beautiful place filled with Aussies and NZers working the resorts.
On Tuesday morning, Becky, Rob and Sarah drove me out to West Vancouver on the highway that would take me to Whistler, en route to their ferry over to Vancouver Island. The traffic was dense throughout town, so I appreciated a boost through the metropolis. Parting ways with people has become a common occurrence on this trip, but it never gets easier. We said bye and I strapped Sirocco up with all five bags, my full kit this time, peddling straight on to the busy Sea to Sky highway, to see what the fabled Whistler was all about.
