Peter Freeman: Tandoming the Twin Tracks

Links

We woke at six o'clock with feelings of excited anticipation. We had another mountain range to cross but this one only required us to climb about five hundred metres to the summit at Eholt, with a similar descent to Midway. The track from Christina Lake to Grand Forks was overgrown with weeds, putting our first thirty kilometres on the Crowsnest Highway.

Riding the highway was so much different to what we had done the previous day as we were constantly changing gears to match the fluctuating grade, sometimes much steeper than the rail bed. We had become pampered by the steady kilometres of a gentle two percent rise. We had left the motel at seven o'clock under an already warm sun and a few kilometres later we were feeling the heat. It looked as though we would be in for a hot day. I noticed that the bike was becoming more and more difficult to steer. We already had the first puncture of the day. I figured it must have been caused by some fine shards of broken glass that often sparkles on the edge of the highway. With our gear with us, I was able to use the handles of two spoons as tire levers, a trick I had learned when I was a kid, much to the consternation of my mother who would find them later in the garage. Off came the tire and I ran my finger around the inside, feeling for the telltale sharp object. I found nothing. The hole in the tube was facing the rim, so I guessed it was a weakness in the tube that caused it to puncture.

The road to Grand Forks passes through irrigated fruit growing land and into rattle snake country. It wasn't long before we came across one that had tried to cross the highway. A quick twist of my wrist on the handle bars prevented the tires from putting more dents into its lifeless body. By mid morning we had reached Grand Forks. We visited the local Overwaitea grocery store to purchase a meal of fruit, yogurt and buns then settled down to eat under the expansive shade of trees in the Boundary Museum grounds. Mary put the remnants in a Ziplock bag and stuck it on her handlebars for a later snack and we set off in search of a bicycle shop to buy some tire levers and a spare tube.

There was really only one bike shop in town. "You can't miss it" and "It's the big silver barn on the edge of town" and "Just pass O.K.Tires" we heard from gas station attendants we spoke to on the highway. They were right but when I looked at the outside of the building, I was beginning to think I had been directed to a motorcycle shop instead of a bicycle shop until I saw that the fence around the barn was made of old bicycle frames and wheels. Hidden around the side of the barn down a slope was the entrance to a small cave like shop built underneath the barn's main floor. Guarding the entrance lay a large dog lying languidly in the shade. I eyed the dog suspiciously.

A bell tinkled as the door closed behind us. Inside the shop was the latest in mountain bike wizardry covering the walls and hanging from the roof. Facing the main counter stood the owner, his workshop behind him. We purchase a tube and he showed me a new design of single tire lever which I looked at cautiously. I was reluctant to try out new gadgets when we would be riding into a remote area again. He must have noticed my suspicions as I turned the device over in my hand, for he went outside to check the tires on the tandem.

Money changed hands, and with some more directions, we were heading down a quiet asphalt road towards the rail bed again. The sun was hot and the air dry. We stopped under the shade of a small bush to have a drink and a look at where we would be going. After leaving Grand Forks, the rail bed cut through irrigated fields of lush green crops heading for the base of a mountain range. We could see the start of the climb as it rail bed cut into the side of the hill and slowly gained elevation. From here we would climb up to the summit at a spot called Eholt and then descend to Midway.

Away we went, but soon encountered our first difficulty. Soft, loose gravel formed the surface of the rail bed and the front tire skidded from side to side as I struggled to gain control. Our bike was a road Tandem that had tires an inch and three eighths wide. Not as wide as mountain bike tires, but wider than the road bike tires. We knew that we might experience some loose ground, but hoped there would not be too much. After we gained some height, the surface improved, but there were always rocks to dodge. We were moving well until I felt the back wheel sway in a drunken, soggy fashion. Just as I started to suspect that the tire was going flat, I felt the tell tale bumping of the rim hitting the ground. As soon as we stopped, the cooling breeze of our speed ceased and sweat rolled in rivulets from my forehead. It was hot. We pushed the bike to a spot where a scant patch of shade from a small bush eased our discomfort.

The new tire lever worked well. I had the tire off in a jiffy and replaced the tube with one of the spares. I pumped up the punctured tube and listened for the escaping air and found that the small hole was on the bottom of the tube. I was puzzled. The spoke ends were protected by the rim tape so again I figured it must have been a weakness in the tube. Given that we were subjecting the tubes to higher than normal pressures, it was a plausible explanation, however I hoped that this was not going to be a common occurrence. I pumped up the tube, refitted the wheel back on the bike and after a snack and a drink we set off again.

The rail bed climbed higher above the fertile river valley with the irrigated green in sharp contrast to arid hills sprinkled with lodge pole pines growing out of the dusty soil. Occasionally a gentle breeze wafted over us as we picked our way amongst the debris from the crumbing slopes above but most of the time the heat beat down on us sending stinging salty sweat into our eyes. We weren't going fast enough to generate our own wind, particularly when we walked the bike over patches of sharp rock shards which threatened to slash our tires. We longed for the cool of the first tunnel on this route; even Mary was not dreading the prospect of the dark underground. Sometimes our view was accented by the dizzying glance over the edge of massive concrete walls that propped the track against steep cliffs.

As we climbed higher and higher, there were many places where rock falls had to be negotiated. We carefully avoided the worst of the scattered debris and as we were going uphill our speed was reasonable for the surface. We had settled in to enjoying the scenery when I felt the back tire going soft again. This was becoming very frustrating. I found a spot in some shade and we took off the tire. Another small hole in the same location on the bottom of the tube where the spoke ends. I checked the rim tape for any deterioration and found none. I was puzzled. I did not understand why we were getting so many punctures. Mary suggested tactfully that perhaps, in my zeal, I was pumping the tire up to hard. I vehemently denied it, but to be diplomatic, I offered to reduce the pressure a bit and see how it went. With slightly softer tires, I would need to be careful riding over rocks to avoid getting a "snakebite" puncture which happens when the tire flattens hard against the rim. The tube, pinched in two spots, looks as though it has been bitten by the twin fangs of a snake. At least the view was pleasant enough as I became dirtier and dirtier from the dust I picked up from the tire. We still had one more good tube before we needed to patch the holes as I carried enough spare tubes to change rather than patch them. Later in the comfort of the motel, I could do a thorough job of cleaning and preparing the rubber before applying a patch, better than trying to do the job in adverse conditions on the trail.

We started peddling up the trail again, taking care not to hit any large rocks. At one spot the old rail bed rounded a curve and then hugged the cliff before leading us to the first tunnel. Before the tunnel was the remains of the station house which the arid climate had preserved well The doors were gone and the windows retained only a few fragments of plastic sheeting used as a makeshift cover during the winter months by long ago railway workers. Inside, the small two room building was devoid of any furnishings and only a soot blackened ceiling and a circular hole in the roof showed where a pot bellied stove once stood. Mary took this opportunity to escape the heat as I ranged around outside with my camera.

Eager to press on again, we headed for the tunnel. I switched on the bike headlight just as we entered and waited for my eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. I rode on carefully, but it was getting more and more difficult to see the ground. Out of the front of the headlight, a feeble yellow light was sucked up by the blackness as we went deeper into the tunnel. I saw less and less until I was almost blind and had to stop riding before I ran into the side of the tunnel. After we got off the bike I realized I was still wearing my dark sunglasses and I had thought the headlight batteries had died. Once out the other side of the tunnel, we had our last view of the river valley before coming into sight of another tunnel, hidden a little by rich green boughs of drooping trees. It was a welcome sight from the bright glaring sun reflecting off shiny rock.

Out the other side of the tunnel the track became less rocky and as we turned away from the main river valley to follow one of its tributaries, verdant vegetation smothered with wild flowers replaced the dust. The rail bed was now composed of hard packed earth allowing us to move much faster. In the cool of a stand of large over-hanging aspens we stopped so Mary could photograph the wildflowers. As she was about to press the shutter, a deer walked onto the track ahead of us. It looked at us for a while before springing away in a series of high bounces which propelled it high over the tangled undergrowth.

We were now making great time, pedaling fast up the grade, sometimes attaining twenty kilometres an hour on the smooth soil, dark from decades of coal burning steam engines thundering their way slowly up the grade. The air was cooler now, partially from the higher altitude and from the moist forest on either side of us. At times I had to be careful to avoid the gutters formed by heavy rainwater that had run down the vehicle tracks. For a while I was successful in keeping the bike wheels up on the ridge between the wheel tracks, but eventually I succumbed to the almost magnetic attraction of the grooves. Now I was trapped in the gutter, I tried to ride my way inside it, looking for a spot where I could climb the bike out and back on the central ridge. Before I could do anything, the front wheel started and in a flash, the bike went over, throwing me head first and upside down into a wet ditch. I felt a jolt as Mary landed in a lump on top of me.

Mary was up first, grimacing with pain. It took me a while to untangle myself from the fallen branches that crisscrossed the ditch, but once I was up and walking around, I found that I was unhurt, save for a few scratches. Tears formed in Mary's eyes as she waited for the pain in her shin to ease. Blood ran down her leg from cuts that had gouged her knee.

"I'm really sorry. It happened so fast, I didn't have time to get my foot down," I apologized, "What happened to you when the bike when down"

"I must have hit my shin on the top bar as I was flung off. Oh, it hurts! Just give me a moment"

Mary's face tightened as she gingerly walked around in circles, trying to take her mind off the pain. I felt terrible that I had caused her so much pain. I wished that I could rewind time and had another opportunity to avoid what had just happened. I was concerned that we still had some distance to go before we reached the summit. At least we could coast downhill once we reached Eholt. In our first aid kit we carried a cold pack that could be activated by breaking an inner bag and starting the endothermic reaction between the mixing chemicals.

I examined her shin carefully. I could see the large red welt on her lower shin which was starting to swell a little. She carefully rolled up her sock over the spot and wiped some of the congealed blood off her knees with a tissue.

I straddled the bike and held it steady while Mary carefully locked her shoes into the pedals. At her signal I headed off, watching the trail with sharp eyes. The gutters ended and the track became safe again.

"It's okay now. It doesn't hurt to pedal, or at least it doesn't hurt any worse when I pedal. Boy, though, it hurt like a son-of-a-gun at first!"

I felt relieved that it wasn't worse, but I felt bad that Mary was still suffering. I wished it had happened to me and that she had gotten off as lightly as I had. It would have been emotionally easier for me, right now I was feeling such guilt. After a while I relaxed and re-focused on the trail ahead which had now merged with a logging road coated with a loose even covering of gravel. At times we vibrated through patches of washboard left from vehicles traveling at a fast clip, but it was only a short time later when I felt the grade ease and our speed increase. We had reached the summit.

The logging road left the rail bed and we were riding through grazing land, dotted with the occasional tree. Off to our side was a ranch house and ahead a fence crossed the track. The landowner had allowed passage along the track by building in a "Texas gate" made of saplings and wire. I watched Mary as she unhitched the wire loop from the top of the pole and lifted its base out of the bottom loop. After I pushed the bike through, she closed the gate and pulled the loop back over the pole again. She was walking okay now, but as soon as we reached civilization, I would get some ice for her leg. We started downhill slowly because the bed was becoming sandy and steering was difficult. This section had not been traveled by motorized vehicles and was a bit overgrown with weeds. For a half an hour we struggled through the sand, trying hard not to wipe out again. Down to our left the Crowsnest Highway eased closer until it was a mere hundred feet away and from here to Midway, the highway paralleled the track. The sand had gotten much worse and we were making painful progress so after a quick discussion, we wheeled the tandem down the embankment to the asphalt. What a difference to be riding on a hard surface again. We cruised downhill, checking the track running beside us to see if the surface had improved but it looked worse as it descended into richer country where the weeds grew higher.

We were enjoying riding the black ribbon of tar until I head a hiss and felt the back tire go flat. I pulled up quickly before it was completely flat and we climbed off. No more were we enjoying the wind cooling our sweaty bodies; we were standing on the hot, quiet road as the high sun poured its vengeance upon us. A few hundred metres ahead was a small two wheel track leading through a grove of trees which would be a shady spot to take off the tire and fix the flats. Now that all four tubes were punctured, I would have to patch them all, so I wanted a spot were we could survive the heat for an hour or so.

Reaching the cool, we ate some power bars and started taking off the wheel. The tire came off quickly and the tube followed. Again the puncture was in a spot close to the spoke ends. This was driving me crazy! I studied the rim carefully, trying to figure out what was causing these punctures. As I felt the rim tape, it came to me, the high pressure of the tube was forcing the thin rim tape down into the hole where the spoke nipple nestled. Some of the sharp spoke ends protruded beyond the smooth nipple and had pierced the rim tape ever so slightly but enough to slowly chafe away at the rubber and puncture it. When I recognized the problem, I became frustrated with the manufacture for skimping on rim tape and not using a thicker and stronger rim tape. I patched the four tubes and I worked out a solution to the problem. I really needed some new rim tape, but the next place were we would be anywhere near a bicycle shop was Penticton, three days cycling away. I carried a roll of electrical insulation tape which would not be stiff enough as it would push into the nipple recess like a balloon and it would be only a short time before the spoke end pierced through. I wanted half inch fiberglass packing tape which I might be able to buy at Greenwood about fifteen kilometres away.

Eventually, the tubes were patched and the wheel back on the bike. We started down the highway again, passed by an occasional car, until we reached the spot where the old train track had crossed over the top of the highway. On the right side we could see the rail bed high up on a ridge of fill, on the left side were the remains of one of the two old road tunnels that passed cars under the track. These tunnels had been hidden for decades under fill and were only recently discovered when the highway was upgraded. We decided to try the track again, as there was a sign by the local community promoting the abandoned track as part of the "Rails to Trails" initiative and as part of the Trans Canada Trail project. I thought that the track would be in good shape from here on in to Greenwood. We pushed hard to get the bike up the embankment to the rail bed only to discover that although the trail was no longer sandy, it was rocky. Mary was pensive.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Let's just ride the road into Greenwood, I don't think I could take another puncture right now"

Mary climbed on the bike in silence. I snapped into the pedals and pushed off. A few metres later, I felt the tire go flat. I was becoming weary with the numerous punctures that were plaguing us, and the heat was fraying our nerves. Before Mary could protest more, I whipped of the tire and put in another tube in very fast time. I pumped it up but softer this time and put away my tools.

"You're being compulsive. We don't have to ride every inch of the way, you know, we could take the road into Greenwood"

"It'll be okay, and we have two more spare tubes. I'll watch out for rocks and I have the tire softer now"

Mary fumed in silence as the wheels started turning again. I tried to make myself feel lighter as the bike bounced softly over the occasional stone and stick. We were so close to Greenwood, now only a few kilometres away. The trail improved and became blacker as we drew nearer and I guessed it must have been the coal dust that was still in the soil from the days when a smelter operated here. Not only was there coal dust all over the track it was all over me. I looked at my once white top and saw only a dirty rag. I needed a good hot bath! At the edge of the town we followed a road that led away from the track and crossed a stream to join the highway. In town, we found a hardware store but were unable to buy any fiberglass tape; electrical insulation tape was all they had. I decided to buy some more to wrap the rim three times to give it strength. Now that I had my solution to the puncture problems, I relaxed and became aware of an intense desire that my other concerns had masked. We were hungry!

It was now close to five o'clock; we had still another fifteen kilometres to go, but we had to eat. At the top of the hill stood the Greenwood Inn with an inviting table set outside on the sidewalk in the shade. We sat down and ordered a meal along with a large jug of icy water which disappeared in minutes. We had already finished the five litres of water with which we had started the day but our bodies demanded more. I went to the washroom and regarded my filthy state. It was just as well that we were sitting outside, I don't think I would have been allowed inside the restaurant. I washed my face and rinsed the accumulation of salt out of my hair and returned to our table feeling refreshed and much cleaner. While we waited for our meal to arrive, I took off the wheels, stripped them of their tires and tubes and started wrapping the inside of the rim with the tape. After going around three times, it was thick and smooth enough to resist being punctured by the spoke ends so I replaced the tires and pumped them up hard. I felt more confident now that we would arrive in Midway without any further punctures.

Attracted by the unusual bicycle, some local residents stopped by and chatted, the conversation ranging from bicycles they had ridden in their youth to stories about the local bar and their regular patrons. I became so relaxed in the shade and cool breeze that wafted past us that I did not want to get up and leave, but time was getting on and we still had another hour to go on the track. We left the comfort of the inn and regained the track where we had left it. We rode comfortably downhill, past houses and then alongside the old slag tip from the early days of mining operations. Trains had brought the molten slag and dumped it over an embankment and down the side of Boundary creek, leaving behind hardened slag that was like a blue gray wall running alongside of us. A few kilometres later, the day's heat had generated a heavy rain cloud which we ran into. We stopped and quickly pulled on rain jackets as the heavy drops began to sting our skin. It only lasted for ten minutes but was a refreshing change from the heat.

Slowly the track became thicker with weeds until we were forced to join the highway that ran alongside. We were only a few kilometres from Midway now and had descended onto the plains where it rested. We found the motel, the only accommodation in this tiny town, booked in and ran a bath. Mary peeled off her socks revealing the swelling from her encounter with the bike frame. The elastic sock had kept the swelling down except above the top of the sock where her flesh bulged out like pantaloons. I fetched from ice from the dining doom and after our bath, Mary applied it carefully to her wounds.

From the dining room of the motel, we bought some pop, coffee and muffins for an early breakfast and while Mary washed our road weary clothes, I patched the punctured tube. At nine o'clock we laid our tired and satisfied heads upon clean linen. We felt buoyed with the knowledge that the puncture problem had been solved and we were looking forward to the next day when we would ride to Beaverdell only seventy kilometres away and two hundred metres higher. It should be an easy day. We had completed the Columbia and Western Railway and tomorrow would start on the Kettle Valley Railway. Sleep came easy as our last few words slurred into obscurity.