Peter Freeman: Tandoming the Twin Tracks

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The early morning light came in through the window glass and with the accompaniment of my beeping watch alarm, roused me slowly from a deep sleep. I slid out of bed and rubbed my eyes for a while before dressing and filling our bowls with cereal. I felt excited by the fact that this was the finale of our trip because we had done well so far, in spite of the difficult conditions and we were almost there. One more day to go.

In the crisp and clear air outside the hotel, we hooked on our saddlebags and started moving our stiff legs again. It was six o'clock as we passed through the still and quiet town and our tires started crunching along the cinder like rail bed. After opening and closing a couple of gates, we passed a pond and watched a mother duck herding her ducklings across the small patch of open water. The track was excellent, and in spite of the slight uphill grade, we moved at a fast speed of nearly thirty kilometres an hour. We reached Otter Lake and crossed a trestle to follow the track around the eastern side of the lake where it was being used as road and had been graded smooth and free of rocks. Peter was right, we were reaping the benefits of his work on the Coalmont Chamber of Commerce.

We were still in the shade of the mountains, chilled by the wind that we created from our speed and I longed for the warm sunshine that I could see way up ahead at the end of a long straight stretch. We crossed numerous small trestles as we passed back and forth over Otter Creek and to prevent motorized access, some ranchers had built barricades across the trestles. At one spot a farmer had bulldozed away the rail bed and planted what looked like lupines which we pushed through. At the end of this field we crossed a twin trestle over Manning Creek that had been the main line and a siding of Manning Station.

The past winter's flooding had made this section quite rough in places. Many times we had to divert around a small washout and in one spot, water had cut a steep sided channel right through the rail bed, marking the limit of Peter's influence. We were still in the shadow of a mountain range to the east of us and except for a few patches of sunshine, the ride was cold until we reached the head of the valley. We stopped to eat the cookies we had bought the previous day in Princeton because up ahead, the track disappeared into shadow again and we wanted to take advantage of the warmth. We had already completed twenty-five kilometres and as it was only around eight o'clock, we were doing well. Just before we reached the site of Thalia Station, we came across the burnt out remnants of a trestle that spanned both Otter Creek and Aspen Grove Stage Road. Four hundred metres back, Mary had noticed a track that connected with the road.

"Why don't we go back a bit. There was an access road that probably gets around this."

"I'm worried that we might end up going away from the rail bed and have to come back. I think I can see a way through the burnt out timbers and over the creek."

As I maneuvered the bike down the slope beside the stark remains of the bridge I called back.

Except for some raspberry vines that clawed at my legs, I safely reached the creek and stepped onto a small sand spit that turned out to be mud. I quickly extracted my boot, but not before it was covered with a thick, black, smelly paste. This was not going to be as easy as I thought and as I pondered a solution, mosquitoes were calling in reinforcements and making it difficult for me to concentrate on ideas. I noticed a loose plank that was not too badly burned, lugged it down to the edge of the creek and tried to bridge as much of the creek as I could. It didn't span it completely but I was able to get across with the bike acting as a support. Mary walked across the plank and jumped the remaining few feet to the other side.

We crossed the bridge and started pushing the bike up the steep, stony slope to the rail grade above us. On the way up, I felt my left shoe slip and my socked feet touch the rocky surface. One we had reached the top, I took off my shoe and was surprised to see that the sole had come away from the stiff plastic plate that held the clip system which disturbed me as my footwear was important to our trip. I cleaned the rocks and dirt out of the shoe and managed to put the rubber sole back in place. It would hold while I was riding as it was the hard plastic last that was clipped into the pedal and the rubber sole was only used when I was walking.

The rail bed started to climb out of the valley at a steep two percent grade and although it was rough, we made good time. We left cultivated land and entered the forest again, very aware of the danger from bears and cougars that existed in this kind of country. Just then, the back tire went flat and we stopped for a while as I quickly replaced the tube, the first puncture of the day. There was only another five kilometres before we reached the top of this section of track, so we pressed on arriving first at the site of Spearing Station which was now a horse riding ranch. In the mail box, Mary left a note written on the back of a business card, extolling them to advertise their place as a lodging for cyclists. Had we known about this place, we might have stayed there to shorten our last day.

The easing grade told me that we were reaching the top and as we leveled out into a wide open flat area, we passed a number of houses at the start of the small community of Brookmere. Soon the restored water tower came into view followed by a caboose that was also in the process of restoration. We stopped at the old concrete foundations of the original site of the water tower and ate some of our bagels followed by a Power Bar and washed down with Gatorade. We had done well. It was only ten minutes past ten and although we still had eight-seven kilometers to go, most of that was downhill except for a short twenty kilometer uphill section from Brodie to the Coquihalla summit. We wandered around, peering through the glass windows oat the base of the semi-restored water tower and clambering all over the old yellow caboose. After we had rested enough, we were about to go when a station wagon came up the track from the direction of Brodie and stopped by us. The driver, a man in his fifties, rolled down the window.

"I just went down towards Brodie a bit and the track is okay, except there is a washout, but you can get around it okay, there is a trail into the forest and around the side of it."

"I've seen some scat from time to time, well...they really can be anywhere, you just have to keep your eyes open. That's some bike you got there, I haven't seen one of those on this track before, lots of them come here in buses and they ride down the other side to Princeton where they get picked up, else they do it the other way. Where you heading?"

He drove off slowly, blowing his horn and waving when he passed a women who had come out of her house. We rode down the slope to Brodie, passing the original station house and railway workers sheds and an easy grade led us along a stony track that was loose and difficult to get much speed even though it was downhill at a half of a percent slope. We spotted the Coquihalla highway just before the track turned and ran alongside the Coldwater River and from a high vantage point above the river, below us we could see the old rail bed that went to Merritt. It was on the other side of the river gaining height as we ran along losing ours, finally to meet up at two bridges that crossed the river. In the distance we could see the mountains around the Coquihalla summit and a little further, we came across the washout we were just told about. As he had said, it was easy to get around and we continued on our way finally reaching the junction.

One track curved to the right over a trestle bridge and on to Merritt, the other curved to the left and crossed a bridge that had its western abutment undermined and twisted. With advice from our guide book, we took the right hand bridge and reached the other side of the Coldwater River where we connected to a road that led under the Coquihalla highway. For the next nine kilometres we would follow this road running parallel to the highway before joining it on an access ramp and just when we thought the going was easy, we ran into a large washout that had completely taken away two hundred metres of the road.. Subsequent landslides had brought down trees that had made it difficult to go along the river bank , some stuck out into the deeper part of the river and formed a tough barrier to get by. I scanned the surrounding area and made a decision.

"Let's head up above the washout and see if we can find a track through the forest. Perhaps other cyclists have done that."

"But it is another seven kilometres back to the highway and then another seven to get to the same place as we are here. We are already doing one hundred and thirty kilometres today and that will increase it to one hundred and forty-five."

"There can't be one that's worse than this. Come on, lets see if we can find a trail. We'll take the saddle bags with us."

The forest above us lay on a steep hillside which was open enough in places, so I was able to follow natural trails weaving amongst the trees. As I went, I broke off dead branches that were in the way, to make it easier to bring the bike along this way later. It was hard going in my broken shoe as the sole kept on coming off, the shoe filled with sand and I could feel sharp sticks pricking my protruding toes and behind me I heard Mary griping at the prospect of bringing the bike through the tangled undergrowth. The further we went, the more I realized the impossibility of getting the bike through this route and I would have to try the river instead. Mary was crying with frustration as she struggled through the bushes.

"Almost there, I can see the road again, just a little further to go. I'm going to go back to get the bike by going down and along the river, there is no way we could easily bring the bike through here."

I reached the intact portion of road and unloaded the saddlebag from my back. I gave Mary the camera and headed down the steep slope to the river's edge where along the way, I had to scramble under and over the fallen trees. I was able to reach the bike and bring it down the slope to the water's edge and by carrying it on my shoulders, it wasn't too heavy, particularly since the water bottles were all empty save one. When I reached the base of the slope below Mary, I had to climb hard up the loose and slippery surface and pass the bike to Mary standing on the precipitous lip of the rail bed. In spite of our success, Mary was still terrified at the prospect of being caught between two of these washouts and having to return the same hazardous way.

We re-attached the saddle bags and moved on only to come across another washout that was twice as long as the previous one. There was nothing do but to get the bike down to the bottom of the slope and carry it through the water along the edge until we reached the slope leading up the intact roadway. Although there were a lot more fallen trees at the base of the slope, the shallows at the river's edge extended out beyond the tips of the horizontal trees and we were able to easily wade through the shallows all the way. We stopped and washed our shirts in the cold water, a welcome relief after the oppressive heat that beat down upon us and Mary took the time to bathe her ankle, a little swollen from the days activity on her old injury. It was now around one o'clock and I worried about the time as we still had seventy kilometers to go to catch a bus at eight o'clock. If we averaged ten kilometers an hour and didn't encounter too many obstacles we should make it, but this was becoming tough going.

Away we went again with only a kilometre to go to the spot where we would get on the Coquihalla highway for a piece. The road was now paved with asphalt and we were moving well. I knew that we would not encounter any more washouts in that distance as the river veered away and passed under the highway but the obstacle that did stop us was not what we expected. Across the road was a ten foot high fence and a gate locked with a heavy padlock telling us that we weren't going to get through there. I rested the bike against the fence and went along it for a bit, looking for an opening in the base that we could crawl under, dragging the bike after us. No such luck as the fence was new and well built to keep animals off the highway. At various spots, the fence would funnel to an area where animals could get from one side to the other through a large pipe tunnel leading under the highway but that would just put us on the other side of the highway and we wanted to be on it. Since we would have to climb over the top and bring the bike over as well, I started by helping Mary up the fence where she was able to climb down the other side with only a little difficulty. I scrambled up with a saddlebag at a time and passed them down to Mary's outstretched hands but the bike was going to be a more difficult proposition. It weighed around forty pounds and as I needed both hands to climb, I could not climb and carry it at the same time.

I decided to lighten the weight a bit by taking off both the wheels and hopefully I could get the rest of the bike over the fence. I tried a few different ways but with no success. Eventually, I discovered a method that worked by lifting the bike up as high as I could and hooking the dropouts in the front forks onto one of the wires in the fence, then climbing the fence as carefully as I could so as not to disturb the precarious grip the forks had on the wire. I reached the top, sat on the wood beam, hauled the bike up to where I was sitting and then carefully lower it down to Mary. The wheels followed easily and as I started assembling our machine, I was disturbed to notice that the new tires we had bought when we reached Chute Lake were now looking like the old ones that they had replaced. The back tire looked the worse for wear and I wondered what the last seventy kilometres were going to be like and as it was now getting close to two o'clock, more time had been lost.

We followed the road for a kilometre before turning onto the highway, a different world now as trucks and cars whizzed by. We battled our way uphill against a strong head wind for the next ten kilometres, wishing we were back in the forest where life was a bit more peaceful but finally we turned off and crossed a bridge to the other side and made our way to the Coquihalla Summit Recreation Area. We parked in the shade of the washrooms and filled our empty water bottles, while all around us were numerous huge recreational vehicles and crowds of children chasing each other around. Horns blared, people shouted, making it difficult for me to feel at home in this over populated place so we moved away a piece and in a shady place under some trees, we ate some bagels and drank our fill. I decided to swap the heavier load carrying back tire for the front one, finishing the job around three o'clock. Five hours left and sixty kilometres to go, it didn't look good.

We followed the Coquihalla Lakes road to reach the Trans Mountain Pipeline Road which we would travel for most of the way down the Coquihalla Canyon. After crossing a cattle grid we came to a sign that warned us that the road was closed due to washouts. Mary was very dismayed when she saw this sign.

"Let's go back, we can't go on through these washouts and we won't make it to Hope tonight."

"Perhaps it means that the road is just impassable to cars but okay for bicycles. Let's try it for a while and see how it goes."

The road descended steeply and was littered with rock fall from the slopes above. Up ahead I could see the first tunnel on this section but we weren't going to go through the tunnel as it was filled with rock debris and almost covered by scree at the other end. A kilometre further, the road became bad but not impassable and a few hundred metres later, we could see another washout, more serious than those we had met so far. The road had disappeared completely and all that was left was an unstable loose slope of hard mud and stones to cross. From a distance it was difficult to see if there was a path across it, so I left Mary with the bike and hiked down the road to the washout. I crossed by a narrow trail, such as a goat would leave and walked a little further to see if I could see any more washouts further down the canyon. It was hard to tell but it looked like the road had been half gouged away about five hundred metres further, and as it disappeared around a corner, I couldn't tell if the road was completely gone beyond that point. I felt it was worth our while to try, so I hailed Mary to come on down, and walked back to meet her. When she arrived, she was horrified to see the washout.

"How on earth are we going to get across this washout? How are we going to get the bike the across and once we do, what if we come to another washout worse than this. I don't like this one bit, let's turn back now. I'll break down if we come to another washout. I've had enough, it's hot, I'm tired and it's getting late. How are we going to reach Hope in time?"

"We can always stay in a motel in Hope if we miss the bus. Honey, I'll help you across this one."

"We are...as soon as we cross this washout, we'll be heading down the canyon towards Hope. C'mon, follow me across."

We walked carefully along the narrow trail until we reached the spot in the middle where it disappeared and required some careful hand and feet work to get to the spot where we could continue more easily.

"Now, what you need to do is to only move one part of you at a time, just move a foot and then a hand, not both together, that way you'll always have at least three points of contact with the slope.

"Why am I doing this, we'll fall, tumble down the slope hit our heads on a rock and die. What am I doing here."

"How are you going to get the bike across? What if you fall while you are carrying the bike over? What am I going to do?"

Tears were welling out of her eyes. She was becoming terrified by the steep drop to the river in the canyon below. Shaking, she moved her hands onto the loose stones protruding out of the hardened mud of the slope, first her foot moved then her hand.

"That's it, now your right foot, now your hand, you're doing fine, just a bit to go now. Now put your left hand on that rounded stone and push up slowly and carefully until you can get your left foot on that hold. Good! Now try brushing away the loose sand before you put your right foot down. Almost there, just another couple of feet, now your right hand, relax don't get too tense, your doing fine. Great! You made it!"

"I can't go back across that, what if we come across something worse than this." Mary was crying now.

When she was safely away from the slope, I hugged her and tried soothing her very real fears away. I began to feel that I was bulldozing her into doing things she was not at all happy with and that I was starting to take unnecessary risks with her. Mary had not had the opportunity to learn rock climbing skills and her ability was deteriorating as her fears increased. This was making the situation into a dangerous one.

"Listen Mary, we're turning back, this is getting too risky and I don't think we have the time to continued like this. We'll go back up to the rest area and get back onto the highway. We'll go down the highway to Hope. Okay?

"It's too late, I can't go back across that thing, I just can't, please don't ask me to do that again."

"Yes, you can do it, you just did it once, you just have to do it in reverse. Here, I'll show you how easy it is."

I picked up the saddle bags, started traversed the slope and realized that it was a bit more difficult getting back than it had been going across but I decided not to tell Mary as it would make it harder for her. When I reached the other side, I looked back at her and saw her standing there forlornly, weeping quietly and looked terrified at the prospect of crossing the slope again. I crossed back quickly and started helping her along the narrow trail again. It was slow, careful going and she was reaching the end of her mental endurance since the strain of the last six days, coupled with limited sleep and hard physical activity and now compounded with the risks she was taking, would tax most people to their limits. I was proud that she had believed in herself and made it this far.

When we made it safely to the other side, we fixed on the saddlebags and started heading back up the road. Mary relaxed slowly and the distance passed quickly until we were back at the 'Road Closed' sign where we stopped while she took a pen and wrote on it.

We reached the rest area, continued past it, crossed over the highway overpass and rejoined the swishing stream of vehicles. There was still about ten kilometers to go before we reached the summit and our pace was slow uphill against the strong wind in this exposed part of the mountains. We reached the toll gate, cycling around it through a through a row of cones on the right hand side and although the sign didn't show a fee for cyclists, I kept going and didn't look back in case there was someone chasing after us. I didn't want to lose any more time as it was now five-thirty and we had two and a half hours to go a bit over fifty kilometers. We had to average twenty kilometers an hour down the hill and providing nothing went wrong, we would make it.

At the summit, we started heading down hill, slowly at first and then gaining speed as the hill became steeper. I was concerned about traveling too fast on the two bad tires since the front tire had a weak spot and was bulging out the side, causing the wheel to shake as our speed increased and I didn't dare to put too much pressure in the back tire as it looked like it was about to split soon. We passed a spectacular mountain rock face on our right before we plunged down the steep hill quickly reaching forty kilometres and hour at which I braked to bring it down to thirty. As soon as I released the brakes, our speed swiftly climbed to forty kilometres and hour again on the steep eight percent grade.

Just as we were rounding a left hand curve and heading for the entrance to a road tunnel, the back tire went flat. Suddenly, I felt the rear of the bike sway to the left and the bike started drifting into the lanes of traffic. I was scared and I felt my scalp prickle and cold sweat ooze out of my brow as adrenaline rushed through my body. Slowly and carefully I braked only the front wheel and brought the bike out of the traffic lanes to a stop at the entrance to the tunnel.

We found a spot in the shade behind a concrete buttress and started to change the tire. I grabbed the aluminum rim and burnt my fingers on the hot surface caused by the continual braking which had heated the rim so hot that it had melted a hole in the tube. I changed the tube and we started again, heading through the tunnel but this time I vowed not to let the speed go over thirty kilometres and to stop frequently to let the rims cool, something I found it difficult to do. I tried alternatively breaking with one brake and then with the other, but the rims still heated up forcing us to stop and let them cool. Eventually the slope flattened out a bit and we were able to control our speed by sitting erect against the wind we created. Our speed gained us some time so that by the time we reached the bottom of the hill it was seven o'clock and we had only five kilometres to go and now we would still make it even if we only averaged five kilometres and hour. The road climbed steeply again and our speed dropped to five kilometers an hour, it wasn't going to be easy for us.

As we pedaled up the hill, I felt my body weaken and my hands started trembling. I was running out of glycogen and 'hitting the wall' for I had no energy left and had to stop, eat and rest a bit. Mary handed me a Power Bar which I devoured ravenously followed by the rest of the Gatorade almost gone since filling our bottles at the top of the Coquihalla. After five minutes, I felt better and we continued our slow progress up the steep hill. Ahead of the tire, I noticed something shiny and before I could avoid it, I heard the wheel pass over it with a sharp crunching noise. We had ridden over a piece from a smashed pop bottle which I hoped it had not pieced the tube. We rode on and the tire seemed to be okay.

Our speed increased as we came over the top and headed down the last hill into Hope. Now we had only three kilometres to go and it was about seven thirty and our bus was scheduled to leave at six minutes past eight. We had to quickly cross the Crowsnest Highway that merged from our right, so I let our speed build up and in a clear spot, turned to steer across the road. I experienced another rush of terror as I discovered that the front tire was going flat and we were doing about forty five kilometres an hour down hill. I fought to keep the bike upright and was able to bring it around in a slow curve that prevented us from hitting the guard rail at the side of the road.

We stopped as I checked the tire. The leak was not too slow that we could ride on it for a while, but not so fast that we would have fix it immediately so I pumped it up hard and heard the steady hissing increase. We leaped on the bike and headed off again, making about five hundred metres before we had to put air in the tire again and after checking the rear tire, I noticed it going flat as well. This wasn't very encouraging having two flat tires to deal with but at least the back tire leak was slower than the front. I pumped it up and then re-pumped the front tire and this time, we made it to the start of town where we asked direction to the Greyhound bus depot. These directions led us across town on the wrong street, well past the bus depot and as we rounded a corner the bike, with a will of its own on soft tires, walked sideways out across the road to the other side. This was getting dangerous and it was now seven forty. With some more directions, we made our way back, arriving at the bus depot at seven forty-five and while I watched the bike, Mary went inside to buy our tickets.

"Hi! Are we in time to catch the bus to Castlegar that leaves at six minutes past eight?"

We're coming back through here with our car tomorrow. Is it possible to store the bike here overnight?"

"It'll be just for the night. We're taking the bus overnight to Castlegar, picking up our car and driving back to Hope. We'll be here in the morning."

"Listen, Peter, why don't you see if the Overwaitea store over there will keep the bike locked up until we return."

I took off at a fast pace, or at least as fast as my broken shoes would allow. Inside the store, I asked for the manager.

"I'm catching a bus to Castlegar in fifteen minutes and I need a place to store our bike overnight until we return with the car. We left our car at Castlegar and have come to Hope along the Kettle Valley Railway."

"Well, we're closing at eight and you could leave it in our outside lockup, we don't open it until the morning."

"Oh dear...we won't be back here until about ten-thirty or eleven. Thanks for your offer, I'll see if I can find another place."

"Why don't you try the R.C.M.P They have a bicycle lockup. You could probably store it there. It is up the road a few blocks on the way into town."

"They would take it except they unlock that storage that you can see on the side there at nine in the morning and it's open to the public. It could easily get stolen. Look, I'm going to see if the R.C.M.P. will store it for me, it is up the road a few blocks."

"Okay, but we're running out of time, I should just buy a single ticket and just catch the bus. You can stay in a motel overnight and we can meet back here tomorrow."

"I would much prefer to be with you. It's worth a try. You buy your ticket and if I don't get back in time, you catch the bus. If you see me coming back on foot, buy me a ticket too."

I pumped up both the tires as quickly as I could and pedaled hard up the street. The tandem, now free of its heavy burden, wobbled from side to side as I adjusted to its new weight. I crossed the Canadian National Railway tracks and reached the main road where I turned left and on softening tires made my way to the R.C.M.P. office. When I arrived, it was closed, but I noticed an after hours phone bolted to the wall near the main door. It was now five minutes to eight when I lifted the phone and waited, planing what I was going to say in the most expeditious manner.

"We've ridden to Hope along the Kettle Valley Railway and we need a place to store our bike, until we return with our car tomorrow. We're catching a bus in ten minutes. Could I store it in your bicycle lockup?"

"I'm sorry, we don't have a storage place here, it's some distance from where you are and were closed. You would also have to fill out a number of forms to sign it in."

"That's okay. Sorry to trouble you, I'll see if I can find another place. Thanks!"

I hung up the phone. I was beginning to feel despondent as I wanted to be with Mary because I was worried that she would be tired driving back from Castlegar by herself and there was the possibility that she might fall asleep at the wheel. I pumped up the tires and headed back towards the bus depot looking from right to left along the way for a house, a garage, anyplace where I could ask someone to store the bike for the night. Up ahead and on the right hand side, I spotted an open gas station and on its side, what appeared to be the twin doors of a garage. It was eight o'clock and I had one more chance. I rode the bike in, parked it against the wall and went inside where I spied the clerk."

"I'm catching a bus in five minutes to pick up my car in Castlegar. I've been cycling the Kettle Valley Railway and I need a place to store my bike until I drive back here tomorrow morning around eleven. Can I put it in your garage for the night?"

"Oh wow! One of those double bikes. Just put it against these boxes. It'll be fine there."

It was four minutes past eight when I took off running as fast as my labouring lungs could stand, rounded the corner and headed down hill towards the bus depot. Mary was standing outside the depot and when she saw me, she disappeared inside to buy the second ticket. As I ran, my shoe sole flapped off to once side with every stride, but that did not slow my pace, I was going to make it come hell or high water. At six minutes past eight I slowed to a wheezing stop beside Mary. I dropped my hands to my knees and dragged as much air into me as fast as I could manage.

"Don't worry, the bus hasn't arrived yet, it's late. Did you leave the bike at the R.C.M.P.?"

"You know, while you were away, I had to find a bank to get more money. The tickets are about seventy dollars each and I only had seventy dollars and she wouldn't take Visa."

I walked into the depot, sweating profusely from my exertion and the heat. While Mary purchased my ticket, I found the washroom and cleaned myself up as best I could and when I returned, Mary had a large glass of water and some cinnamon buns for me. As I munched and relaxed a little, I felt the tension slowly leaving me. We had made it! The bus arrived soon after so we lined up outside to board and as we walked into the bus and along the aisle to the rear, I was very conscious of my filthy white shirt stained brown with the soil of the last one hundred and thirty kilometres. I wondered what people thought of us as we trooped on to the bus looking like a couple of derelicts to find the only two seats left, one at the very rear beside a young girl and the other beside a young man a couple of seats up on the right. I hesitated before choosing a seat, hoping one of them would recognize by our similar attire and identical bags that we were together and offer to change seats so we could sit beside each other. It was to their advantage as we must have smelt pretty sweaty. No one moved so I sat down carefully beside the girl trying not to offend her to much by my appearance and odor, Mary took the remaining seat.

The bus pulled out and retraced the same route in reverse that we had just ridden a few hours ago. Every now and then, Mary and I would glance at each other knowingly and point out some spot or other were a drama in our trip had occurred. When we reached the top of the Coquihalla, the bus swiftly passed the washouts where we had spent an hour struggling to get by, making it seem surreal to be traveling easily along the same route that was so fresh in our minds. After we passed the last recognizable spot, night had almost taken over the sky so I pulled out my ear plugs and eye masks, fitted them, and closed my eyes to doze through the overnight journey. What a day!