Canmore – Kananaskis Lakes – Cataract Creek – Coleman – Fernie: 353 km

After three nights at Toivo’s place in Canmore the rain has finally passed. Off to the Lakes of Kananaskis. Our first full day on The Great Divide. I don’t think I’ve actually explained our plan. Well, it’s riding The Great Divide. It’s a mountain bike route that starts in Canada and weaves trough America towards the Mexican border, crossing Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico. It’s known for how brutal it is, partly because of its hellish climbs, but mostly for its surface; 95% gravel.

Marijn and I eagerly start on our new plan. The roads are steep, the mountains black. Our back wheels spin underneath us when they’re grasping for grip on the gravel. The rain of late has left its marks in the valleys, on higher altitudes the sides of the roads are covered with a thick layer of snow. On one of those climbs we are warned about two grizzly bears further down the road. From the window of his truck the man explains that there’s nothing to worry about, but that somebody got killed on this road by one of them last year. We cycle on excitedly, carefully. A ranger stops her car and tells us the same. Minus last year’s killing. And then we see them, one in-between the trees inspecting us as we ride past. Then another one, minding its own business but blocking the road. My heart pounds a little faster than it normally does, my hand tightly around the cannister of bear spray, safety off. They’re huge. But they somehow seem much more friendly than the horror make them out to be. We wait for it to cross the road and completely disappear into the pines. We make it to our campground without any problems, other than the realisation that our bikes may be too heavy, and not particularly suited for this rough terrain. We set up camp in the snow.

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The next few days do not go as planned. The snowfall has made the track not only impassable, we can’t even find it. We improvise a new route and will catch up with The Great Divide in a few days. It takes us over our highest point yet; 2206 meters. That night we get lucky and find a shelter with a cast iron stove. And we needed it. We are wet from sweat, yet cold from being outside. We melt snow into drinking water and snuggle up next to the fire. Because of our diversion we are reunited with the Forestry Trunk Road once again the next day. That is a road I have bad memories of. That is the road that I crashed on just over a week ago, and I can still feel and see what that crash did to me and my bike (and my wallet). This time however, the most treacherous condition has been taking out of the equation; this time it’s dry. And this time it doesn’t beat me. After a steep, and at times scary, descent where my brakes actually work, we arrive in Coleman. After three days in the forest, in the snow and the cold, Coleman seems boring, but warm and welcoming. Most importantly, it has a place to get a beer and a burger. They taste like heaven, and we feel like wildlings amongst humans. With our primary needs fulfilled we find a place to camp in a city park, when a car, this time not a truck, pulls up next to us and rolls down the window. A lady smilingly asks if we could use a shower? Of course, we could!

“Come with me, you can stay at my place tonight!”

We follow her car somewhat bewildered around the corner and up her driveway.

“I should call my family and let them know you’re here. But make yourselves comfortable. Here’s the shower, there’s towels inside.”

Did we just get picked up by this lady and gotten a place to stay? I guess we did! We learn her name is Valery, and she’s travelled herself quite a bit. She wants to pay forward the kindness of strangers that she’s experienced. Before long her husband Brice, and two kids Kinga and Riley are home too. We’re part of the family instantly and get served snacks and drinks. The basement floor is layered with a thick deep-pile carpet that feels good between the toes of my bare feet. We sleep in what seems like the most comfortable bed in the world.

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Rejuvenated we get back on the bike. We’ve already booked a hostel in today’s destination: Fernie. If we’d known we’d sleep in a house last night we probably wouldn’t have booked it. It’s an easy day of cycling, although mostly along the side of a busy road, we descent ever so slightly. The weather seems to be turning around too, we’re in shorts today. When we get into Fernie we are pretty much waved into a brewery. People on the terrace clap as we pass by. Our plan was to have a beer here anyway, but this welcome makes it perfect. We talk to a few of the other cyclists there, who’ve eared a free beer by riding today. We speak to a lady who finds our travels inspiring. She asks us all sorts of questions, finds out where we came from and where we’re staying tonight. She proudly tells us the one word she knows in Dutch; Nijlpaard (hippo). Another table buys us a drink. When we finally get to the hostel, the reception doesn’t let us pay. They explain that a lady just called and paid for our room. She told him to tell us; Nijlpaard. Man, Canadians are great. And I will miss them, for tomorrow we cross into America.

Even though I will miss these extremely nice and chatty Canadians – who by the way all seem to do all the outdoorsy sports, from mountain biking to cross country skiing, climbing and canoeing – I’m not too sad to leave Canada. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful here. The Rockies have impressed me greatly. Yet, Canada, in my book, is not a country for cyclotouring. It’s insanely expensive. We’ve been living off pasta with tomato concentrate for dinner and peanut butter sandwiches for every other meal. Hostels are sparse and costly, and hotels are simply unaffordable. Maybe I wasn’t ready for the switch away from Europe, where there’s a village every two hours and a supermarket along with it. America might not be that different, and I will have to get used to a more rugged adventure. Maybe it’s not Canada, maybe I need some time to adapt.