Conquering the Coquihalla

After returning from the island I spent Sunday washing, re-organizing, and packing up my panniers. This time I was actually heading east, and actually on my own. I pedaled out of Surrey on the back roads with the rain pelting me in the face, and splashing up my shins. Fun stuff. I took 16th ave (up and down the rolley pollies) most of the way out of town, then moved on to 8th ave, then wound my way through farmlands into Chilliwack, passing horses and llamas and chickens, oh my! The intermittent downpours didn't really damper my spirits, since I was on my way to Lisha's place in Agassiz, and the thought of a hearty home cooked meal and warm bed to sleep in, as well as a chance to converse with my lovely sister, really displaced any negative feelings towards the black clouds looming over my head.

I arrived at Lisha's place around five, at which time she commenced to cook me the meal of my dreams while I showered the residual grunge off my face and limbs. After dinner, Lish made cookies as we drank tea and conversed with Carolyn, the friendly primary school teacher who was renting Lish her room. We regaled Carolyn with stories of biking in Mexico, sharing the infamous "yogurt-bum-pinch-incident" with re-enacted detail.

The next morning Lish sent me off with a ziplock full of hermit cookies, a container of leftovers, and a fistful of cash. Couldn't really ask for a better sister :) Too bad she can't come with me; we are the ultimate duo.

My trip to Hope was uneventful. I took the Haig Hwy and got soaking wet. Oh, and I forgot my flag at Lisha's place and thus had to backtrack to pick it up. I anticipated my trip up the coquihalla to be a test of my physical stamina. I did not think it was going to be easy, and when I mentioned my intentions of cycling from Agassiz to Merritt in one go to other people, I was labeled as a) crazy, b) insane, or c) brave. But I have a question: what's the difference between being crazy and insane? Is an insane person a person who is mentally unbalanced, and thus has no control over their actions, while a crazy person is someone who chooses to be wild and outrageous? I don't know the answer.

So I started pedaling, uphill, on Hwy 5, alone, in the pouring rain. Truthfully, I was a little scared. Until this point I'd managed to keep off the main roads, and the sight of semi trucks rumbling towards me in my side mirror was more than daunting. I was starting to think that I was a crazy/insane person. Then, my head full of disheartening thoughts, I spotted a woman on the other side of the highway. This took me off guard; I was about 30 km from Hope, and hadn't seen a soul. She looked kind of distraught, so I slowed down and shouted "are you ok?" over the roar of traffic. She shook her head and pointed down the slope, and not really knowing what I was doing I hopped off my bike, jumped the meridian, and asked again "are you ok?".

Well, it turns out she drove her car off the road as she was rounding the bend, and there it lay. It looked like she plowed through a few small alders, down a slope, and crash landed in a salmon berry bush. She was a bit distressed and disorientated, shaking and shuddering as the bruises began to swell and the blood began so seep from her wounds (thank goodness the tree crashed into her windshield and not her head). Her on-star failed, and she was trying to flag down a car to call for help.

"Nobody is stopping!" she wailed, "I've been trying...trying but they just drive by...". To top it off, she lost her glasses in the crash, and so all she could see was blurry forms of colour flying towards her.

So I gave her I hug. Because that's all I really want when things aren't going so well for me, and I couldn't think of the right words to say. Her car was probably totaled, but she was mostly OK. Then I flagged down a car (I somehow felt determined to help this woman, whose name was Judy, looked to be in her late 50s or early 60s, by the way) and asked them to call 911. Now, looking back on it, I could have called 911 from my cell, but I was out of minutes, and I guess I kind of forgot that it would still work for emergencies. Stupid. Then we hung out and I found her glasses and jacket and we talked about life and Judy watched the rain fall while I watched her bruises swell bigger. The ambulance came promptly, the paramedics were friendly, Judy and I said good bye, then I returned to my stallion, slapped her on the backside, and began my upward climb once again.

I kind of mulled this situation over in my head for a while, just thinking about what happened and how I would feel if that was me in the drivers seat, and how my biggest threat as a cyclist is probably tired or lousy drivers. So much can happen in the blink of an eye. I pondered the value of a human life, and felt sad that no one stopped for her. I guess it's not really the fault of the drivers, I mean, the speed limit is 110, so it's not like they really have a lot of time to see her and make a decision of whether or not to stop anyways. But I would hope that if I bailed off my bike on the hwy, someone would stop for me. However, I hope this is a thing that never happens.

Then the going got tough. The slope got steeper, my body became fatigued, so I put my ipod in and cranked techno beats. Slender fingers of remnant snow poked through the clouds shrouding the mountain peaks, extending their reach closer and closer to the road as the elevation increased. The sweat was beading, bleeding off of me, mixing with the rain as is poured from my pours and falling to the pavement with an inaudible 'plunk'.

It was just past the great bear shed that I began to have serious doubts about my ability to conquer this mountain. My legs were turning to jelly, and simply refusing to put out anymore. But then, I was like, "What would Lady Gaga do? Would she give up? No Way! What would Indiana Jones do? Would he let some natural obstacle defeat him? Not a chance. What would Arnie do? Would the Governator let some puny little hill get in his way? Unlikely." So I kept at it. If my favourite pop culture icons could do it, then so could I.

So still blasting the techno, pretending that I was at a nightclub in Ibiza and not alone on some mountain with cars and truck whizzing by me, I climbed up to the summit at 1244m. This was twice as high as the highest hill I cycled in California, so I was pretty stoked on my achievement. I looked down into the valley and noticed snow below me. wow. The rain was beginning to lighten up, the sun breaking through the gray clouds in slivers of blinding light. smile. grin. choke. wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! down the hill...pure ecstacy.