Chapter 10: Tour des Rockies (part 1)

Jul 20

Hi hello! It’s been a while — not for lack of trying to write this next chapter, but because this last stretch of cycling has been a particularly reception-less one. I’ve arrived in Banff, a milestone but not quite finished with the bike! I’ll be in Calgary soon, which will mark the last page of the cycling. Well, last for now, but in lots of ways these four adventures have acted as a lil taster plate for the bigger, longer adventures to be had in the future.

The Canadian Rockies had been one of my original plans, with other trips built around it. It’s been unforgettable, and I’ve certainly finished on a high note with this one. This chapter is in two parts — enjoy the first 😊

Priming for the climbing in Squamish and Whistler

Now that I was back to carrying everything I owned, including my trusty yet clunky tramping pack strapped to the top of my panniers, the weight of my stuff determined the pace I would go at: slow. So slowly I went, steadily, up and down the hills into Squamish.

Squamish is a small town dominated by the towering presence of Stawamus Chief, a rock slab famous among rock climbers all over the world (among many other places to climb - over 600, I’d later learn). I stopped off for lunch in Shannon Falls Park and smugly watched the line of cars waiting to find a place to pull up.

After exploring the town itself, I made my way over to my warmshowers hosts Jim and Claire’s place, a lively retired couple who are rock climbing enthusiasts (as one would have to be, living in Squamish) and had a lifetime full of adventures to tell of, both on rope and on wheels. They fed me well, let me cool off on their pool, and provided a spacious cabin for me to sleep in on the fringe of their private forest in which Jim had built a trail down to the shops. I was grateful to be treated so warmly yet again.

The next morning, I set off to climb up to Whistler, gaining 700 metres of elevation over the course of the day. The climbing wasn’t as strenuous as I’d anticipated, mainly due to the many downhill patches of reprieve from the uphill grind. The heat and my chronic dehydration (working on it) gave me a decent headache. I tried to counter this by eating lunch in the shade at Brandywine Falls - a waterfall, not some fancy restaurant as the name might suggest.

Whistler, when I eventually got to it, was a chill place filled with Australians (and NZers too I’m sure), wealthy people, and mountain bikers. The town is dotted with lakes connected up through a bike trail system called the Valley Trails, which was a great way of getting around.

I stayed with an hospitable Warmshowers host called Hugh, who’d just come back from a trip on Vancouver island himself. As a trained chef, Hugh treated me to a delicious dinner and breakfast in the morning. Although my stay in Whistler was short, it was good to get a sense of the place that so many people from NZ or Australia come to to work and/or play.

I managed to squish a trail run in the next morning before the descent back down to Squamish. Strangely, while the ride up to Whistler did not feel too steep, coming back down to Squamish was one big thrilling downhill ride and much more scenic. Back in Squamish, I stayed at a campsite just out of town so the ride to Vancouver would be shorter the next day. Time was tight: I had a train to catch into the Rockies.

The bike ride back into Vancouver city was comfortable, only disrupted slightly by an advisory alert I got from VIA Rail, warning us that the wildfire smoke in Alberta may cause cancellations or delays. In haste, I drafted up an alternative plan in my mind in case we couldn’t make it out. Luckily, that plan never eventuated, as I got to the station all was running as usual.

I’d heard mixed reviews about VIA Rail, Canada’s Amtrak equivalent. There’s another train ride called the Rocky Mountaineer, which is about 1500 dollars more expensive than the budget version I chose to go with (another sleep-in-the-chair situation, like to Montana).

The staff pretty much packed my bike in the box for me, so helpful. We left bang on time, and the onboard staff took good care of us with a relaxed sense of humour. Some podcasts and hummus wraps later, it was time for the most complex logistical part of the journey: sleep. Sleeping on the train was as comfortable as cattle class sleeps can be, but I must have got some hours in between waking up to re-adjust my position what felt like every 20 minutes.

We awoke to a bluebird morning sidling along some impressive mountains. Soon after, the train driver made an announcement: they had good news, and great news. The great news was that we would be half an hour early! That was almost unheard of. I can’t remember what the good news was.

Day 1 - Jasper to Jonas Creek campground, 77km

When we arrived at the station in Jasper, VIA Rail happily took the bike box to recycle, which saved the stress of hiding the box in an inconspicuous corner of the train station. It’s always a relief when Sirocco arrives safely, hopefully that continues.

Jasper, in its arid hazy heat, reminded me of a town in an old-school Western film. It was hard to imagine this place transformed by snow into a winder wonderland. I overheard another guy who was setting up his bike at the station dissing the Icefields Parkway (the route I’d be taking) as a place he wouldn’t want to ride. It was overrated, he implied. I knew that it would be busy, but wanted to come to my own conclusions about one of the most scenic routes in the world. Resisting any temptation to fill my pack with an emergency supply of snacks, I pedalled out of the town before I changed my mind.

On the ride out of Jasper, it didn’t take long to get a sense of what I’d be in for over the next couple of weeks. I was surprised at how little snow there was on the peaks, but admittedly we were still only at 1000m above sea level. Maybe climbing into the actual icefields would tell another story.

Just after lunch, sitting nearby to a group who were getting out of the river after a white water rafting trip, I met a couple of bikepackers heading in the same direction. They told me there was a hiker-biker campsite a little further along than I’d planned to go that day, so I decided to push a little further and aim for there.

Campgrounds in the Rockies are notorious for being full and busy, so I was surprised to rock up to a very quiet Jonas Creek campground — on a weekend, too. One other cyclist had already set up camp as I arrived. She introduced herself as Jane aka Miles 2 Go (her bikepacking trail name), and had just ‘triple-crowned’, completed the three main thru-hikes of the USA. Miles 2 Go had just started biking the Great Mountain Bike Route down the spine of North America, but her bike was having issues — the ‘shimmies’, as she called it. She had already ridden to Jasper and back to try and sort it, but with little success. I sensed she was the type of person to not take no for an answer. We covered many topics over dinner, including what languages we speak in New Zealand, ultralight gear, and covid vaccinations (why did we go there?).

A few other cyclists joined later on in the hiker-biker area, a patch of grass close to the highway that could do with some weeding. We only had to pay 5 dollars for it though, and I appreciated the set-up nonetheless.

Day 2 - Jonas to Rampart Creek, 66km

There was not a trace of Miles 2 Go when I woke at 6am. She must have packed up early to make the most of whatever lay ahead.

The second day of the Icefields Parkway began in the shade of the tall, spindly pine trees. Shade was welcome, even at this early in the day, and the absence of clouds suggested this would be a hot one.

The main event that day was climbing up to the Columbia Icefields, which marked the heart of the Parkway stretch. The climb was a solid grunt, but the panorama of glaciers and rock provided welcome distraction from the physical challenge. About halfway up, I noticed a cyclist stopped on the roadside: it was Miles 2 Go, still having issues with the bike. ‘I’ll walk up if I have to’, she told me - I respected her grit. I wished her well and continued grinding up myself. I soon passed a group of cyclists churning their way up, feeling a bit guilty for overtaking them with my heavy load, but wanted to keep up the momentum.

At the top of the hill, some of the members of the group who were already at the top cheered me on. After talking to them, I learnt they do this trip to mark the start of every summer, with a support van riding alongside. Lucky them! One of the cyclists mentioned there was a Starbucks at the Icefields visitor centre, just a few kilometres down the hill. That did not surprise me, but with the thought of coffee dangling in front of me, I rolled onwards in the growing heat of the day.

At the turn-off to the visitor centre / Starbucks, I stopped up next to a motorcyclist. ’Is this the glacier they’re talking about?’ He asked me, clearly disappointed. He went on to tell me about how his wife and he had travelled all throughout South America and Antarctica. This was nothing compared to what he had seen, he said. As soon as his biker mate revved into the parking lot, our interaction was over: the motorcyclist forgot about me and flagged down his friend. I hope he found beauty and awe in another part of the park at least.

While sipping on my 16-ounce americano (lol) watching the tides of RVs ebb and flow from the parking lot, a squirrel with no sense of personal boundaries hopped onto my foot and ate something they had found around me (maybe a crumb?). This was the closest wildlife encounter I’d had yet in the Rockies.

I got into Rampart Creek in the early afternoon, just after sheltering from a short but intense rain dump, with ample time to explore the campground, to stare at the sheer rock walls on either side of the camp, and to bathe my feet in the river. Having shorter cycling days can be great, but it also can test the limits of boredom and occupying oneself in different ways.

I wasn’t alone for long, because soon an old-school van pulled up to the neighbouring site. The man promptly introduced himself: his name was Bud and he was driving from New York to Arizona, to drop off his van to his daughter — just taking a small detour via the Canadian Rockies. Bud was 83 years young - he got me to guess his age (I guessed 70) and boy did he have some stories to tell. (I’ll spare you the details about the time his dog almost bit his finger off, thinking he was an intruder). Goriness aside, I formed a soft spot for Bud. He bought his first cellphone last years and has had some troubles downloading the maps, so we found some trails on my Garmin app together. He was also curious about my bike set-up, wanting to get into bike touring himself. I’ve thought about Bud since and how he’s getting on heading west. I hope he’s doing well.

Day 3 - Rampart Creek to Mosquito Creek, 65km

Fuelled by the fact I’d be meeting my friend Shannon later in the afternoon (who I’d last been with in Montana), I made an early start to Mosquito Creek campground. The mountains were getting grander and grander, and today I’d reach the highest point on the trip: Bow Pass. The morning was grey and moody, a few high clouds but nothing too threatening.

About an hour in, I stopped off at the Crossing, a motel and grocery store where I got coffee and two eye-wateringly priced fig bars as buffers to my rations, which I was in the thick of. I could not, however, justifying a load of supermarket bread for $10.

For a while I sidled along the glacial blue Waterfowl Lake, a body of water much grander in person than in the photos stuck onto the sides of the numerous Canada Cruise rental camper vans that have overtaken me on this trip.

Anticipating the big climb ahead, I stopped for a snack next to Mt Weed before the next big climb (a glance on the map of Icefields Parkway reveals many intriguing post-colonial names of the surrounding peaks). At the start of the climb I met two cyclists, and judging by their set-ups, they were on a huge adventure. ‘Knufbergs cycle the world’ read a sign on one of their bikes in the place a number plate might go if bikes had number plates. The other had a stick with many countries’ flags, presumably all the countries they’d cycled through. They asked where I was from. I couldn’t spot a New Zealand flag on their flag stick, so maybe that was next for them. Both having limited breath to spend on talking, we continued at our own paces.

The climb up to Bow Pass was tough and steady as expected. When it got hard, I turned my pedal cadence into a beat and then beatboxed to the rhythm, eventually laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. It’s amazing what the mind resorts to in times of challenge, but de-escalation works wonders on big adventures like this. Despite my body feeling on fire thanks to the zero shade and cloud, I enjoyed the progression of moving from the foothills of these mountains to being more on par with the peaks.

Shannon had told me about Peyto Lakes and said she might visit before meeting at the campground, so I decided to take the detour in case she was there already. It was a 600-metre-long walk up to the viewpoint from the jam-packed car park and I decided to wheel Sirocco up with me. (Apologies to all the people on the path who put up with my sweaty stench). We weaved in and out of different groups, languages, accents, families, to the busy lookout point where more people were standing taking selfies in front of the lake. I could see why: the creamy blue lake, and what is left of the glacier feeding it, were spectacular. The valley floor from which we’d just ground our way up stretched beyond the lake way into the indefinite distance.

No luck with spotting Shannon, so I continued onwards and downwards (finally) to the campground. As I exited the carpark, the two world travellers pedalled in. ‘See you in New Zealand!’ They said as we passed. So they were coming!

My personal lake highlight of the day, however, was passing Bow Lake, the most incredibly still body of water reflecting the mountains surrounding it to almost every detail. A little more of a climb, and then at last, the turnoff to Mosquito Creek campground, a pleasantly spaced out and not-yet-full area. I found us a spot in the shade, and only a short while later Shannon arrived. It felt like it had been way less than two months since we’d met up in a similar way in Montana, yet a lot had happened in that time.

The afternoon passed swiftly with lots to catch up on. Later in the evening we visited Peyto Lake, which Shannon hadn’t seen yet and which I was more than happy to see again. The crowds had not dissipated. Back at the campground, we ate dinner and Shannon successfully made a campfire, with me providing moral support on the sidelines. When the rain started, we moved into Shannon’s big mansion of a tent, true glamming style. The drops became heavier, and the thunder too. Despite the noise, and the podcast I put on, we both fell asleep pretty fast.

Day 4 - hibernation rain day at mosquito creek campground, 0km

It rained all night. We stayed mostly dry, except for a puddle that had formed underneath Shannon’s mattress in a dip on the ground. The weather decided that I would have a rest day today at the campground, and maybe explore some trails if it cleared up.

The thought of curling up in my tent and not exerting much energy appealed to me, so after we’d packed up Shannon’s sodden tent, I transferred my belongings into my own pea pod, or tiny home equivalent. Shannon headed off back to Calgary, but I’d see her the following week for another camping trip with Sarah, too, before Shannon went back to NZ for a wedding.

The rain was mentally testing that day, and the fact I was responding to it in a negative way said a lot about how very little rain I’ve experienced while out cycling on this trip. As long as I was safe and dry cocooned up in my sleeping bag, though, as long as my tent didn’t leak, all would be well. The sun would come out again, I just wasn’t sure how soon that would be.

Over dinner I talked to a couple of cycle tourists with a tandem and trailer for all their gear, cycling to Alaska from Missouri. They were going to take the Cassiar Highway, the route I’d originally and far too ambitiously planned to cycle from Alaska to Calgary. They seemed like the pair who would ace it, though. It must help to have another person cycling with you in more challenging times. The Rockies seems to act as a meeting point for people going all sorts of distances, in all sorts of directions.

Day 5 - Mosquito Creek to Monarch Campground via Lake Louise and Moraine Lake, 75km

The eventual absence of the endless pitter-patter that had become familiar over the past 24 hours filled me with optimism that today may be the day that things dry out. The cold and mist still served as a reminder, though, of the altitude we were at: 1800m above sea level. It was amazing how vastly different the climate was to when I started in Jasper only a few days before, in the desert-like heat. All these microclimates was passing through. The stinging sunburn on my upper arms felt like a faint memory as I rode through the fog-clad road.

Lake Louise village, my next chance to reconnect and restock, was booming with tourists eager to caffeinate and explore the surrounds. The queues to both coffee shops spilled out into the carparks. While I was waiting in line in one of them, being one of these tourists, I noticed a couple standing and looking at Sirocco, gesturing to each other about what I presume was the weight distribution of my set-up. Were they judging Sirocco? When I went out and said hi, they were super friendly. Turns out they were riding across Canada!

Using the patchy wifi outside the visitor centre, I checked in with family, replied to some messages, made the mistake of opening my inbox so promptly closed it again. Shannon and Sarah had recommended heading up to Moraine Lake, the sibling of the titular Lake Louise — apparently it’s way better. It was a little further away and up a hill, but the day’s riding was otherwise all downhill so it would balance things out well.

As the road to Moraine Lake is only open to tour shuttles and buses (and bikes), I naively thought it would be a little less busy up there. That was absolutely not the case, but the crowds didn’t detract from the beauty of the moody alpine lake nestled between towering walls of rock and glaciers. I ate my peanut butter sandwiches at the lakeshore, gaping at the magnitude of the mountains. Canoeists were out enjoying the lake: parents teaching their kids to paddle, a solo paddler slicing through the lake. It looked like an incredible way to travel through this environment. Watching the people at these popular attractions is all part of the fun, too, except for cringing at the people who trampled across the fragile vegetation to get their Instagram-worthy poses in front of the lake.

It would not be a visit to Lake Louise without actually visiting Lake Louise itself, too. It was Times Square-busy at its lakeshore. The clouds obscured most of the mountains, and the crowds the lake. I could still appreciate the gigantic wall of glacier hovering above the water, and how magical this place is — just maybe with fewer people there. I didn’t stay for long and hopped back on my bike amid the bustling car park, onwards to my camp for the day. Highway 1 was noticeably busier, but the road shoulder was so generous that I almost had more room than the cars in their lanes.

Just after crossing the park boundary into Yoho National Park, the road climbed down, down, down steeply into the Kicking Horse Valley (named after a European surveyor whose horse apparently kicked him in the chest while travelling through this place).

I needn’t have worried about not getting a campsite, as there was only one other tent in the walk-in area of Monarch Campground as I arrived. Thankfully, the sun was now shining confidently. I sprawled my sodden gear all over the place: towels hanging from trees, fly tent across the bench, mattress on the ground, undies hanging off my pack. Messy as it was, most things dried quickly. My now-dry tent felt like a mansion inside, compared to the day before when I crammed everything in in attempts to keep my stuff dry.

It turned a little hazy in the evening, a reminder of the smoke fire impacting the air quality. I’d been so lucky through the Icefields Parkway, and hoped it would continue to be bearable at the least over the next week.