Chapter 2: Steep hills and learning curves
(Sorry about the wall of text — photos at the end I promise!)
The Sunshine Coast certainly lived up to its name over the two-and-a-bit days I pedalled along its undulating spine, Highway 101. The area is actually a peninsula lying on the territories of Squamish, Sechelt and Tla’amin First Nations, northwest of Vancouver. It runs parallel to Vancouver Island, with a ferry crossing over to the middle of the island from Powell River — where I eventually hopped over from The Coast to Vancouver Island.
My journey along the Coast started on the first of two ferry rides, from Horseshoe Bay near Vancouver to Langdale. The prominent mountains were shedding their snow but keeping enough on just of impress the early spring travellers like me.
Sirocco was one of only two bikes on the ferry — the other cyclist, Gil, had just moved over from the Prairies and was about to start working as a deck hand on these ferries. He seemed to know a lot about New Zealand, maybe because his friend was currently cycling the length of it. Gil was a fellow fan of Flight of the Conchords and confessed he knew all the lyrics. I told him I could relate.
The ferry ride, though short, was smooth and gorgeous. The landscape reminded me of a mix between Picton and Queenstown. Sadly no whale sightings (yet, we live in hope!) Rolling off the boat, I waited until the concentration of dusty utes thundered by before I ventured onwards. This must be some of the locals’ usual commute.
Langdale and Gibson’s Landing are small colourful communities. They even had rainbow pedestrian crossings! I soon stopped to have lunch in a grassy park outlooking the marina. As I filled up my drink bottles, a woman stopped and asked, ‘how’s the water?’ ‘Great, so cold!’ ‘It’s number one in the world,’ she gave me a knowing look and walked by. The water here is pretty good, I must admit, but she didn’t know I was from New Zealand.
The route I was following is an official cycle route, dipping into some of the scenic coastal roads along the way as respite from the busy highway. I thought the sea views would be more prominent from the road, but we can’t have it all can we! The coast is covered in many tall trees that obscured the view most of the time. Not complaining, the trees were wonderful shelter in the heat.
The hilly roads kept me guessing and were an excellent test for my gear shifting. Sometimes I underestimated how low I needed to go to complete a hill climb, struggling just at the end to get up and over the last few metres. I think I’m getting the hang of what’s required to push 25+ kg of luggage up each hill.
There’s an eclectic mix of houses lining the back roads of the Sunshine Coast, many nestled into the trees out of sight. I noted come cool tiny house designs, but overall I was struck at how solid most of the houses are, built with thick timber to survive the Canadian winters, I guess. I’m curious what brings people to live on this coast.
I passed through some more quirky towns, such as Roberts Creek with its Gumboot Cafe (I think it’s Taihape’s unofficial sister city). There’s an old-school feel about the coast, like the textbook yellow school buses. Eventually, I got to my first campground, Porpoise Bay, on an inlet of the same name just off Sechelt. This site had a special zone for cyclists with first-come-first-served sites. I was in no danger of missing out on a spot, as I shared the site with only one other person. Her name was Doreen, who (as she said her herself) talked my head off for a while. I enjoyed the company, and she gave me many tips about bear safety and what to see on Vancouver Island (which was to spend more time on the Gulf Islands - noted). The sun was caught in a web of moss-dripped trees and it was magical.
On the second day, I woke up at a reasonable time of 6.45am and left at 8, hoping to catch some time for a coffee in Sechelt before heading on to Saltery Bay. I had a ferry to catch so wanted to leave enough time for exploration and rest in between. The evening before, Doreen mentioned the traffic would be quieter from now and she was right. More hills, but more variety.
It was interesting to note how the houses and mood changed as I got more into the middle of the Sunshine Coast. It felt more rugged and less built up, more real and grunty. I found another sleepy marina to eat lunch at and was soon asked to move as they were about to test out their sprinklers. It’s nice having some interactions with locals, even if takes watering the lawn to do so.
My favourite detour of the day was stopping by Ruby Lake. The pristine waters were like those found in the shores of Abel Tasman. I found a secluded spot shared only with a couple with a staffy, and read for a bit.
There were still a few hours left to fill before the second ferry. I meandered along another hilly detour to a place called Egmont, and then headed to the ferry terminal. Another picturesque view from the wharf. I was the only foot/pedal passenger amid the long lines of motorists. Although it’s early in the season, I’ve been surprised at how few cyclists I’ve seen on this route (one).
My trip along the sunny coast ended with a hearty breakfast of a filled wrap and coffee in Powell River. it didn’t take long to realise this was a rather quirky town. As I rolled up to the cafe I’d scoped out, I was greeted with an equally hearty ‘Hey, brotherrr!’ On the side of the road. Inside, the two men came and chatted. They live on boats on Texada island, a long isle that lies between Powell River and Vancouver Island. One of the guys, Brad, told me about his grandmother who was Māori but moved to South Africa. Brad also asked if NZ was queer friendly. Could he tell? The other, Patrick, who had brother’ed me, asked what I thought of Jacinda Ardern. It’s not the first time a Canadian has asked me about Jacinda in a fan-girl sort of way. I love that they love her.
As I was waiting for the ferry in Powell River, and older man came and sat beside me. His name was John and he was heaving over to the island for his friend’s 90th. We got talking, as one does, and soon two more locals joined whim John knew. All within the span of 5 minutes, John had bought an old iPhone off one of the others for 100 dollars (a bargain if you ask me) and I learnt that Michelle (the seller) was a psychic, among other things about people in the town that might be too much info for an outsider to know. ‘Bye One Six Eight Five! That’s your name in numerology, John!’ Michelle shouted as she walked on.
‘The town’s quite close knit then,’ I remarked to John. ‘Yes, well there are the Jabbeds and the Unjabbeds. I’m an Unjabbed. There are people dying all the time here.’ Luckily, John was interrupted by yet another local who started talking about something else. With that, I slipped away and lined up for the ferry.
There was something about the sweet country air in Comox when I got off the ferry that reminded me of Ostfriesland, where my mum is from. A sense of nostalgia I couldn’t quite put my finger on. En route to my next camp spot in Cumberland, I stopped off at a Walmart Supercentre to pick up some more food, but mainly to have the experience of shopping at a Walmart. It was funny seeing Whittaker’s chocolate on the shelf, all the way from Porirua.
My camp spot for the night was in a secluded little spot, nestled in the trees above lake Comox. The campgrounds are so empty, and while the solitude is nice, it gets to a point where it would be cool to have a few more people around. The introvert in me is shocked I just wrote that sentence.
The next day humbled me. It really began the night before, when the first drops of rain fell on my tent in the ungodly hours of the morning (side note: I’ve actually been having great tent sleeps overall on this trip! Possibly thanks to a new blow-up pillow that’s replaced my clothing pillow). In a half-awake state I catastrophised about cycling in torrential rain for the next week, but when I woke up properly it was all okay.The feeling of packing wet stuff and acceptance of being wet for a long period of time felt all too familiar from Te Araroa.
It soon became apparent that the route I had planned was too ambitious, navigating a series of backroads used by logging trucks and the occasional bikepacker. Because of the rain, the gravel road had turned to slush. With 80km of this to go, and some big hills in the mix, my heart and gut conceded that this was not going to go well. Around I turned, back past the fragrant rubbish tip, and towards the highway I pedalled. This was not the day I had planned, but I was going to get somewhere.
The highway was, as expected, flat and mostly boring. Any sea view was obscured by the fog that hovered above the water. It was a struggle to keep the morale high. I stopped to have lunch at a beautiful carved shelter by an estuary, where I learnt about the birds and fish who called home here in this unique biosphere.
Not getting any drier, I continued on inland towards my destination for the evening, Sproat Lake. I still had 50km and a bit climb to go, but I was determined to get there because there were some petroglyphs (rock drawings) I wanted to see there. The next bit involved highway 4, a very popular route that takes you out to the very famous Tofino, a beach that everyone has talked highly of, but sadly is a logistical nightmare to get to by bike.
Sorry rant ahead: I’ll take this opportunity to say how much I hate utes. I did not realise just how tied up utes are to Canada’s national identity, apparently. Sure, maybe some people need them for work or road conditions, but when 80% of cars on the road are big-assed double-wheeled Chevrolets, I think we have a problem. Okay, back to the actual events now!
The highlight of the day was feeling miniscule while cycling through Cathedral Grove, a passageway of tall old wise Douglas Fir trees. I marvelled at the height of them, imagining what it would be like if the whole place was still like this. The forest patch was too short, and soon I was being overtaken again by logging trucks thundering up the hill to Port Alberni. It felt good to get a sweat on after being cold from the dampness of the day.
Once back over the hill, I stopped off at the Port Alberni visitors centre where I likely offended the helpful staff there with my questionable odour. I wanted to know if there was a bus that could take me back over the hill. There was, but it didn’t take bikes, especially big ones caked in splattered highway-shoulder mud.
Ploughing on, I eventually arrived at Sproat Lake only to find I’d left my tent pegs in the hasty pack up of the morning. Thankfully there were some heavy rocks that did the trick, but it was the last thing I needed on top of being wet and cold and so I took a moment to feel sad. I missed home and felt isolated and worried. So, to be reminded yet again of the incalculable scale of time and my relative insignificance, I walked to the site of the much-anticipated petroglyphs. These ones are thought to depict mythological animals resembling part wolf, part whale, as well as fish. They were even cooler than I imagined them to be. Back at my tent, I crawled into the cocoon of my sleeping bag, a place of safety, and my phone rang. It was my friend Shannon, who’s in Calgary - only a one hour time difference. We had a good chat that helped me put things into perspective. I ate some chocolate and went to sleep.
Today reminded me of the power of the mind when dealing with objectively uncomfortable situations, and to accept that some days will just not go to plan. But it’s easy to forget that one day or one moment like this does not define the whole. Before I left my sister Anna shared a quote with me: ‘Voyager, there are no bridges. One build them as one walks’. This resonated today especially — I will solve the problems as they arise, taking one step and pedal at a time, building an adventure in the present.
Not everything is comfortable, but nothing is unsolvable. I started the next day popping into Canadian Tire (mitre 10 mega on steroids) to get some tent pegs and re-traced the path I’d just come from. This meant experiencing Cathedral Grove for a second time(!) as well as the narrow brooding Lake Cameron that lies to its east. Utes thundered past as usual, but I chose not to care. There were too many beautiful trees to look at.
One of the quirky stop-offs that I imagine captures countless tourists’ attention is the Coombs country market, where goats live on the building’s grassy roof. Only one goat was out today, but I paid them a visit and ate a delicious samosa under the famed roof.
The rain had stopped at this point and so I carried on, making it into Parksville to call my parents and eat my second lunch (eternally ravenous these days). More sketchy highway cycling, more rain, but a treasure eventually revealed itself in the form of a cycle way. This caused me all the way to my spots for the night, Jinglepot RV campground, hosted by a wonderful man called John who kindly gave me free shower tokens and put me up in a spot with the strongest wifi connection. Good on ya, John!
I’ve decided to take Doreen’s advice and head for the Gulf Islands (breaking the fourth wall here — I’m actually sitting in Salt Soring Island public library inhaling their wifi to upload this post 😉 ) but tune in next time to hear about the gulf island adventures + more in Chapter 3!
