The goodbyes were harder than expected. After a casual lunch that happened thanks to the generosity of the Colombian John and his girlfriend Tara, it was finally time to say goodbye to the team “Sudacois”. I had a knot in my throat. I had no words. After so many days sharing the road with Oscar and later with Kathy, it would be very strange to continue alone. I almost dropped a tear when I saw them turning away and riding in my opposite direction.

The weather was the same as the feeling. The sky was a lead grey and the mountains where the pass I was about to tackle lie were announcing rain.

As if I was trying to avoid the inevitable encounter with the heavy traffic that waited for me on Route 1, I decided to take an alternative road, at least for a few kilometers. After a steep climb, I found myself riding the “Continental Divide”, in the middle of a dense forest and an area that was, until recently, closed due to the presence of grizzlies. It took me no time to remember the unsafe nature of traveling alone so I started using my infallible emergency whistle, which, together with my bike bell, were noisy enough that if a bear was nearby, he would probably had attacked me just to shut me up

When I was about to exit the Banff National Park, while crossing the Kicking Horse Pass, I found three cyclists that were riding very relaxed and calmly in my opposite direction. Their looks of “why are you making so much noise” said everything without a word. I felt a bit ridiculous, but at the end, the one traveling alone was me!! At least I didn’t see any bears that day…

The rein didn’t forgive me and the descent from the pass on the crowded TransCanada Hwy. was a bit cold. The impressive landscape was eclipsed by the weather conditions that also required being extra careful on the descent.

That day I ended up in a campground at the Yohoo National Park, that apparently, it was closed. There wasn’t any signs saying otherwise, but the reality was pretty obvious: there was no one around. It was an open area without trees, only the picnic tables and a cooking shelter. I didn’t hesitate and that’s where I settled in. The loneliness sensation and isolation couldn’t be any bigger.

Taking advantage of the little sunshine that poked through the clouds in the afternoon, I dried the equipment and laid down right there in the shelter, without even setting up the tent. Would I have a bear for company? Not even that! It was the beginning of a new stage of the trip.

The next day I got back on the road with a steep descent through a narrow gorge that dropped suddenly until reaching the town of Golden. After the ridiculous prices that we found at Lake Louise, the local market looked like on a perpetual sale. I couldn’t believe how cheap everything was, or better said, how badly we were taken for before... In a few minutes I bought more than I could eat or take with me. A bit later I continued on the road with a few extra kilograms on my already heavy gear.

The day promised to be a long one. On top of the distance that I needed to cover to get to the campground at Glacier National Park, I had also to get to Roger Pass, with its almost 1300 m. And Golden left me only at 500 m…

The route climbed slowly until finally, close o the National Park, the real climb started. I gained altitude little by little with the constant noise from the engines of passing vehicles. The accumulated fatigue was getting up to me. When I finally got to the Park’s entrance, I only had to surpass 200 m of altitude difference. The only thing I was thinking off was to go over the pass and get to the campground to rest.What I didn’t know is that a long descent waited for me and made me lose the gained altitude to get back to the initial 500 at the bottom of Roger Pass. Agh!!! I almost die. It was the first time I was asking for a descent to stop and the climb to start.

The steep rise was exhausting. The road shoulder became another lane for the climbing cars and my space got reduced to the white line that bordered the road. A truck passed so close to me that fear froze me up on the bike for a few minutes, while I remembered the driver’s mother and all his family….

With the altitude and time came the darkness and cold weather. I was drenched with sweat and the air got to my bones. I couldn’t stop. In spite of wanting to finish the day right there, I knew that I didn’t have a place to stop there. I was in a National Park, the road was narrow and steep… I had to continue.

I rode 120 km so far and I still had 4 more to get to the top. When my energies seemed to have abandoned me completely, I saw something unexpected that woke me up: Tunnels!! The last thing I was thinking off…

It was the adrenaline doses that I needed. I checked the bike rear light and I faced those narrow passages where I barely had room to pass through. I went through one; two, five tunnels were my nerves were tensed to the max with the approximation of every vehicle. When I got out of them in my sweaty and slow advancement, a wall of freezing air would hit my face and chest until I would get into the next tunnel. The mountains to my side were climbing to the sky with breathtaking views. As if I needed to get more out of air…
I got to the Roger Pass surrounded by total darkness. The change in time zone gave me an extra hour on the clock but no light. In the middle of the dark I started to descend looking for the campground. A crazy sense of happiness poured out of me because I almost reached the goal of the day, even though not in the way I expected. If someone would have passed me, the sure question would’ve been why is that guy smiling on a bike, in the middle of the night and chilled to the bone? How to explain it?

Finally and by chance I could see the sign for the campground and in no time, I set up on the first site I could find. Dew covered everything and the thermometer fell to 3 ºC. I later discovered that I was in the wrong campground, more expensive than the basic one that I intended to go originally. I just prayed that the campground manager wouldn’t try to get the payment so late in the night!

After such an odyssey I deserved a nice rest and I took advantage of my passing through the Canyon Hot Springs to soak my bones in a pool of thermal water… and at the same time, take a bath! A bit later, entering the Mount Revelstoke National Park, I met Zuzana Driediger, who invited me to visit without paying the interpretative trail of the centenary cedars. Chatting a bit, I discovered that a few months ago she hosted a girl doing a student exchange program… from Mar del Plata! The invitation rapidly got extended to spend the night with her family in her house in Revelstoke, so there I went.

Zuzana turned out to be more that what she appeared from first impression. She wasn’t only responsible for charging people entering the park, but also for the Visitor Centers of Glacier and Revelstoke National Parks. She was the first and only female member of the avalanche rescue team and snow control during the winter. In her youth she was a ski champion and also guided tours of Helsinki, that means, those crazy people that get to the top of a mountain by helicopter and the get back down skiing… To top it off, she was personally in charge of the construction of her new house, including the wooden floors and some fabulous wooden sculptures. Ah, and she’s the mother of two wonderful kids. She’s a woman of steel!

After many nights in the tent, the huge bed of her guest room was like arriving to paradise. How to resist the invitation to stay another day and see with them the National Park?

August Friday 24th promised to have the ideal conditions to ride: plenty of sunshine and a strong tail wind. Almost without realizing it, I covered the 80 km that separated me from Sicamous, where the intense heat and the discovery of a beautiful beach on the lake, confabulated against me to “force” me to take a dip and a nap. I wanted to stay there, but I had to get to Salmon Arm, where Dan and Deidre Quilty, a couple of friends of the Gibney family from Terrace, were waiting to host me that night.

There were 40 km mostly boarding lakes that forced me to stop at every panoramic point. When I finally arrived, the family was already having dinner. It still takes me a while to figure out the normal time for dinner. Without pause, they invited me to sit down with them. With all the perspiration that day, when I took my shoes off (Fixed rule in every house I passes through in Canada) I couldn’t avoid feeling ashamed. If I could smell that odor, poor people!!!

I was surprised to find a table so impeccable. The number of knives and forks on each side of my plate was astounding. “Do you want a different plate for the salad?” asked David cordially while Deidre offered me a shrimp cocktail as an appetizer. “Err; usually I eat directly from the pot, so it’s not a problem for me!” I said.

A 5 star service, attention accordingly and for a second consecutive night, I had a bed with a mattress almost as tall as my tent. They treated me as a king. I will never forget their hospitality.

I would’ve loved to stay there for months, but I still had 120 Km to Kelowna in order to see the Ironman that was run the following day in Penticton. Considering that my sports beginnings were in the triathlon, I couldn’t let the opportunity to see such an event go by.

It was a hard day, with a strong head wind and riding on a huge highway where the endless flux of vehicles was deafening and left little to enjoy the landscape. The dense forests had been replaced by vast extensions of vines and fruit trees. I was in the Okanagan Valley, mainly a fruit farm area and the Canadian wine country.

An unexpected flat tire slowed me down a bit, but I still made it to Bridget and Phil’s house, in time to share with their friends Mike, Ehren and Megahn a delicious BBQ (a long distance relative of our “asados”)

At 7 am sharp on Sunday morning we witnessed the start of the Ironman Canada in Penticton. It was still cold and a crowd was packed on the shore to see the 2500 athletes that were struggling to advance in the Okanagan Lake waters. Thousands of arms flew in the air making a white foamy trail in their back. What a temptation to be there in the middle of the race!!

But it’s not for anybody: after swimming 3800m they would ride a by for 180 km and lastly run 42 km before crossing the precious finish line. It’s a race that demands a lot of training, dedication and perseverance. It’s a pending goal for a not so far future, I hope!

To see the front runners with their ultra-light bikes and their specially designed aero dynamical helmets was a show for me. As if they just started the competition, they launched themselves into the road at an envious speed and cadence. The sea of participants seemed to be endless and I even felt a bit guilty when I was later enjoying a huge breakfast while they were riding…

The Marathon was the breaking point for many competitors. Nevertheless, the winner, a New Zealander, won from start to finish without leaving any doubts of his supremacy over the race. A machine!! You could feel the energy of the people encouraging the racers at the finish line. A unique sensation that justified all the effort and suffering to get to the finish line. Once again I would have loved to be on the other side of the barricade. May be at the end of this trip?

The departure from Kelowna was marked by the passing of the 5000 km mark. It was a relaxed day until the small town of Summerland, were Mike found me a contact person to spend the night. This time it was the Siemmes family who opened their door and sheltered my in their home. I was already starting to get used to sleep on a comfortable bed instead of the floor.

To escape the craziness of the main road, I opted for an interesting alternative: the Kettle Valley trail. It was an old railway track that was removed and now one could use it to ride on its path. It was a bit sandy in some areas and with some potholes but always maintaining a maximum inclination of 2%. A luxury!!!

That night I camped out on the shore of the Link Lake, at 1100 m and surrounded by dense forests and on a totally clear night. A nice way of returning to the routine of my sleeping bag.

The next day the descent to the town of Princeton was slow and constant. The heat was on and the warm air perforated my throat. In spite of the 40 ºC that I could feel on the pavement and that some hard climbs expected me, I decided to continue towards Manning Park after an obligatory stop in the small town.

I thought that I had to climb the ‘Mile Hill”. I said to myself, ok, one mile, it’s not too bad! After descending a few kilometers and when I thought the worse was over, I understood my mistake. It was the “Mine Hill” what I was supposed to surpass. The mass in front of my and the zigzagging switchback where I could see the trailer trucks as miniatures in the distance, took my breath away even before starting!

I put my head down, changed gears and pushed steadily for almost one hour until I got to the top. I must have sweated liters of water on those kilometers. The narrow road continued in a perpetual up and down that gave me no alternative. It was almost dark and I had to camp out. A little clearing at the side of the road was my last chance at hand and I settled there. I had descended from 1100 m to 500 m to again climb back to 1200 in the last 20 km.

I needed a break and the Coldspring campground in Manning Park was the perfect choice. I stayed there for a couple of days, where the daily activities were reduced to reading and writing. I spent the nights sharing marshmallows over the fire on my neighbor Manon, along with her three hyperactive children, Aimee, Ethan and Jordan…

Only the last descent was left and the return to sea level. In Hope I met Vic Gladish, a cyclist that I‘ve met in the Yukon and when he knew I was passing by his hometown, he invited me to stay with him and his wife. After a week of camping, a nice shower and a mattress were nothing to say no to.

Taking advantage of the holiday for Labor Day, he rode from Chilliwak and together we retuned to his house, going through extended parcels of cultivated land. The characteristic smell of fertilizers was filling the air…mmmmm pure air finally?!

The urbanization of the sides of the mountains caught my attention when there was so much leveled land for agriculture. Vic told me that it was a protective measure to avoid concrete replacing dirt in the future and the decay of the food production. It was a wise decision, wasn’t it?

It was my last day of pedaling before arriving to Vancouver, a place that I always wanted to visit. Celebrating my 3rd month on the road, Sept 4th greeted me with a fine but persistent drizzle that made the first 80 km a bit uncomfortable. Vic gave me a map where he indicated me how to get to my destination avoiding the huge highway and impossible to ride on, that route 1 had turned into.

I started riding among farms, I passed within a scarce kilometer from the US border and then I ended up trapped in an endless stream of urbanizations that constituted Vancouver suburbs. Entering in Surrey, the sun reappeared and I could dry up enjoying its warmth while on my final approach to the city.
For the first time in a long time I saw tall buildings again. The Sky Train, an elevated monorail train that becomes a subway in downtown, captured my attention and admiration for a while. I was in the 21st century!!!

That line that crossed the Fraser River on the map and wedged itself into the city turned out to be the monstrous and narrow Patullo Bridge. When I saw it, I thought it would be impossible to cross and end up alive to tell about it. Fortunately, an occasional cyclist told me how to reach the pedestrian path and cross it to the other side without any risks. It was an adventure, comparable to the crossing of the city where now, I had to respect the ever-present traffic lights and stop signs.

Even though I didn’t know anybody in Vancouver when I started my trip, when I got there I already have 5 lodging possibilities from people that I’ve met along the way. I ended up staying at Cindy Tsang’s place, a girl that I’ve met in Dawson City and who was the first one to answer back about my lodging requests. Her tiny apartment became a gear storage depot and her sofa became my bed for a dew nights until I started to go around town, accepting the other invitations I had.

Vancouver took hold of me and fascinated me in every aspect. I never thought that I would spend 10 days there. Little by little I understood why it has been named the city with the best quality of life in the world. The transportation system was efficient and the star was without doubt the Sky Train, operated by computers and that, with its silent movement towards the modern downtown, it looked like it was out of a Ray Bradbury novel. The electric buses abounded everywhere, and if their aerial wires could look ugly, in my opinion, they gave the city a retro look, and more than anything, they didn’t add toxic gases to the atmosphere. There were plenty of cycling lanes crossing the city and a beautiful shoreline with its nature and architecture. The sportive spirit and active people could be seen everywhere.

In spite of being a large city, it felt small and well taken care of. The downtown looked imposing with its skyscrapers, alongside a huge green area that constituted the Stanley Park. The beaches abounded and in the out squirt neighborhoods the trees mixed up with the well maintained houses. It was a multicultural place where people form different ethnics’ could be seen, and best of all, with an endless gastronomical offer. In one block you could find places to eat from one pizza to Thai food, along with delicious things from Greece, China or India!!
At the same time, it was a city of contrasts. A few blocks away from the historical district of Glasgow, one could enter Hastings St, where drug addicts and homeless people with their belongings on carts, were busy in their own worlds. It was a place that would scare anyone in a different place, but safe enough to crossit without much trouble. A bit further down was Chinatown, where with a bit of walking you could lose your notions in English and everything appeared in a fantastic showcase of signs impossible to decipher… at least for me!!!

In a short time I learned to love this place and its people. And a new passenger would come along in this trip just before leaving again: Oliver, a stuffed tiger whose mission was to protect me from other beasts on the road. Would he succeed?   


Dedicatory

While I was in Vancouver I received news that filled me with sadness and sorrow. Unexpectedly and very fast, Calos del Valle had passed away, a professor and investigator at the Engineering School of Mar del Plata and father of Daniela, a very good friend of mine.

Carlos was one of those people that advised me and helped me with the complicated and bureaucratic process at school before I started my trip. Her advice was of great value to me and I appreciated very much his support during that exhausting stage of the preparations.

His absence leaves a vacuum hard to fill up. For you, Carlos, I dedicated this kilometers done. I know that your spirit and your legacy will always be present for ever in the people that loved you.

I wish you good trails,
Damian

Acknowledgements

To John Jairo and Tara Kamp:  for the lunch that thanks to you the “Sudacois” enjoyed as a goodbye treat  and for the contacts that let me enjoy the Ironman Canada.

To Zuzana Driediger: fro your generosity and hospitality and the great example you are to all women. And to Taya, Zevy, Randy and Hero: for treating me like another one on the house while I was with you.

To Dan and Deidre Quilty: I’ll never forget your kindness and warmth when you hosted my at your home and treated me like a king!

To Bridget Kamp and Phill Rim: Without you I would never had been able to see the Ironman Canada. Thanks from my heart! And for the inspirations book that you gave me!!

To Mike Taylor: for the friendship, the contacts and the outings together when I was in Vancouver.

To Mark, Carol and Allison Siemens: for hosting me and sheltering me in my pass though Summerland.

To Manon, Aimee, Ethan and Jordan: from now on, marshmallows will be associated with the fun times we shares next to the fire in Manning Park.

To Vic and Joseline Gladish: Thanks for opening your home doors and for all the given advice.

To Cindy Tsang: for giving me the chance to know Vancouver in depth, opening up your friends circle to me and for enduring the chaos of my gear thrown all over your apartment for 10 days!

To Therese and John Oldham: for offering me your home at all times and your cordiality during my time in Vancouver.

To Kristen Gorman: for the post-Antarctic reencounter and the good vibes!

To Sarah Bryant: for allowing me to discover Vancouver form the bike, for your friendship and endless hospitality and the good times shares… and for Oliver!!!


Some Statistics

Days on the road: 102

Days on the bike: 64

Kilometers done: 5553 km (1120 on gravel)

Average kilometers done per day: 86.8 km

Hours on the bike: 335h36m (13d23h36m)

Average speed: 16.55 km/h

Maximum speed: 81.5 km/h, descending the Sunwapta Pass (15-08-2007)

Meters climbed: 46188 m

Maximum altitude: 2067 msnm, Bow Pass (16-08-2007)

Desires to participate in an Ironman after seeing it in person: countless!

Days that I would have stayed in Vancouver if possible: maaaany more!!