(Coastal BC and Vancouver Island – 527.5 miles plus 15 miles running)

It was always a question of when, not if, I’d lose my ‘oomph’, as my eldest sister Sarah referred to it. Perhaps the most surprising thing is that it took almost two months, as the euphoric excitement of setting off on this adventure helped me push on through. Yet when I set off from Vancouver after a wonderful short stay with Sarah’s old friend Lorna and her husband David, even though I felt psychologically excited to be back on the road after such a stop-start couple of weeks, my body felt differently. The Walter Scott inscription on a statue of Canadian athlete Harry Winston Jerome, located on Vancouver’s waterfront in Stanley Park, was right on message with the ethos of my trip: ‘the will to do, the soul to dare.’ All very well, but not much use if your body doesn’t play ball! Unlike Jerome’s many achievements, there was nothing record-breaking about my cycling that morning. E-bikers. Commuters. Toddlers on balance bikes. I blithely noticed them all overtake me as I sauntered around  the edge of the bay. Why were they in such a hurry? The world? The world would come to be cycled, I thought passively. Right enough, the kinds of cycle path which I followed all the way from near the UBC campus, out beyond the city limits on the far side of town, are never the fastest way to travel. And I was just cruising the vibe? Right?

‘That’s a very very slow bicycle,’ observed a young boy, aged about three, as I slowed to allow them to move out the way. But he was right. At this rate I wasn’t only going to miss my planned for ferry, but the next one too.

The Sunshine Coast is a wonderfully named area north of Vancouver which is only accessible by boat or plane. A bit like Knoydart in the UK – albeit in this way only. I was one of many cyclists on the following one from Horsehoe Bay to Langdale.

‘Where are you headed?’ I asked a Canadian woman who had asked to borrow my suncream.

‘Oh we’re just going to the beach,’ she replied. ‘More of a swim and a sunbathe than a cycle really.’

It sounded super tempting. But back on the road, my speed didn’t pick up. I’d eaten better the night before than I had all trip, courtesy of the spread of curries that Lorna and David had ordered in the night before. Yet still, I felt malnourished. Weighed down by an invisible cloak of lethargy. My mind was well up for this, but it was like my body was having a teenage can’t be bovvered moment. My legs felt hollow. Brain fuzzy. Spine upright as a ragdoll. And no matter how much I set my mind to upping the pace, my average speed was a good 2mph off normal. What was wrong with me? Wasn’t I aching to be back on the road?

‘You pathetic lazy fat bastard – is that the best you can do?’ berated my subconscious. She’s quite the bitch that one. Obnoxious. Offensive. No regard for the beauty of anyone with more body fat than a cricket. I sought out my inner American in reply.

‘You’re amazing! You’re a superhero! Wow, that’s incredible what you’re doing! I’m so proud!’

Scottish subconscious cynical bitch just rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, whatevs. Lazy.’

I even went through my repertoire of inspirational ditties to the tune of famous songs, to little effect!

‘Come on Lucy!’ to the tune of ‘Come on Eileen’.

‘Just one Burnetto!’ to the theme tune of the Cornetto add. Still nothing.

‘Hey Luce, you’re out of juice, you must eat soon, or you will flop like hot cheese,’ was what I eventually resorted to, to the tune of ‘Hey Jude’. As I said in a previous blog post, my thoughts on the bike are deep, philosophical, poetic.

It wasn’t even as if I were fatigued. The day before I’d joined Lorna and David on a hike just outside Vancouver, which had offered stunning glimpses of views through the mist, and even though it had been a hilly 8 miles, nothing on my usual levels of exercise on this trip, and coming off the back of two consecutive rest days I should have been flying! Flying high as a penguin…what’s interesting though, is how my body somehow knows instinctually what it needs. On this occasion it was a massive injection of protein. I felt like a different person the following morning after I’d enjoyed a second breakfast while waiting for the ferry, which comprised two of everything – bacon, sausage, scrambled egg, ham, pancakes, plus one random slice of watermelon. More coffee. Juice.

In response to my experiences in Nova Scotia, I remarked on how little visible presence the First Nation peoples had, in contrast to the Scottish and Acadian incomers. In coastal BC, this was far from the case. Communities. Reserves. Peoples. Signposts in First Nation languages. Several different people had recommended I visit the Anthropology Museum while in Vancouver, and since it was just down the road on the University of BC campus, I had headed down after our walk. A former colleague at Lancaster who had had the good fortune to spend some time working hereabouts had commented that it was equally troubling as it was interesting, and she was right. The totem poles and canoes and rugs and other artefacts were remarkable, but a quote from a First Nation chief haunted me as I walked around. This wasn’t art, to be consumed and enjoyed. The exhibition was political. Further on around the exhibits, there was a quote from a First Nation elder about how they had initially welcomed the white new arrivals, who would inevitably share their respect for the natural world upon which humanity so clearly depended. How wrong this had proven. Yet the museum provided me with an important context for the areas I have subsequently cycled through on the Sunshine Coast and Vancouver Island, which as David told me, remain unceded – never legally given up to the Crown through a treaty or other agreement – and the ongoing struggles which these communities face for recognition and recompense.

My own plan was to cycle up to Lund, the furthest northern outpost of the Sunshine Coast, from where I’d catch a water taxi to Savary Island on the recommendation of a friend from my old Yorkshire running club. It involved travelling 180 degrees in the wrong direction from my next destination of LA, but having been stymied by the Rockies and caught the bus out, I had time to spare. 10^th September? That was ages away, I seem to have kept on telling myself every time I fancy a detour or some off-bike activities. Getting there will be no problem if I eat two protein heavy breakfasts every day between now and then…during my initial stage of planning for this trip, I’d actually consciously decided against visiting the Sunshine Coast and Vancouver Island on the basis of what turned out to be a valid fear that I’d be stuck day after day in tunnels of trees (which ironically was equally the case in my Plan B of Nova Scotia!) For a lot of the way through coastal BC, huge trees have shaded me from the sea views not far away to my left, while large mountains have been too far away to peek out from the trees to my right. But the small towns were characterful and quirky, and while on ferries the views opened up where no trees grew from the sea.

After a lovely night in a Provincial Park above a sea cove, and two more ferries, I arrived in Lund just in time for the next water taxi which left at 4…so long as I hurried. As if anyone who lives in Lund or Savary Island knows the meaning of hurry. A good 20  minutes or so later, I looked on in horror as the ‘taxi driver’ slung the front wheel of my bike over the back of the boat, before I’d had time to remove my panniers with ALL my clothes in them, or my mobile phone and battery pack. I wasn’t sure which was more essential. I was depending on said phone to find my way to the wild camp spot I’d sussed out via satellite view on google maps, and cycling along sandy country roads in the nude wouldn’t have been pleasant for anyone. Thanks to no such mishaps, I safely made it to what turned out to be a wonderful spot. Most of the island is either sand / rocky shoreline or trees, yet this was a great little patch of grass (agreed a garter snake which wiggled under a rock I’d just jumped up on – they are entirely harmless. But that wiggle. That tongue…) My site was shaded from the winds by juniper bushes beyond which lay a rocky beach which was renowned locally as the place to watch the dreamy treacle sunset.

The gulf islands have a reputation for being laidback and hippy, and perhaps nowhere more so than Savary Island. The water taxis are vehicle free, meaning that any cars or trucks need shipped in (bearing this in mind, it was astonishing how many there were). All ‘roads’ are unsealed. There is one shop. A beach bar (not by the beach). Private properties, and their land. An inevitably forested interior, and the foreshore, which I proceeded to run around the following morning. I’d accidentally planned things well (ie not planned at all), and the tide was receding, making it easier to run along the compacted sand and pebbles than the loose dunes. Not that this made it easy. Numerous tree trunks blocked the way creating a sense of adventure, while the craggy bluffs at the south end of the island forced me to turn inland before crossing back to the west coast where I took a dip in the waves. Due to a combination of tidal factors, the island has the warmest water on the Pacific north of Mexico, and there certainly is something tropical about the place – it’s more like a large sandbar with trees on than an island. And after running a half marathon on the shore, my legs were mighty relieved to see my tent come into view. It had been a brilliant run, but I was definitely ready to stop, so imagine how disheartened I was to find a note attached to my food canister asking me to move. It was phrased incredibly politely, and signed in the name of the island’s volunteer fire department. I’d managed to inadvertently pitch on the emergency helicopter landing pad. I couldn’t help but think it was a better camp spot than helipad, although I could see that there was nowhere for it to land. The somewhat apologetic firemaster popped by shortly later, and suggested I camp on his front lawn in recompense.

As forecast, that night the rain arrived. And did it rain. I couldn’t really complain. If recent experiences with wildfires had taught me anything, it was how badly this was needed, as unpleasant as it might be for little me. During the few miles back down Savary Island both me and Spike got coated in wet sand. During the 17 miles back to Powell River on the mainland, en route to the Vancouver Island ferry, I got drenched. My plan was to stealth camp somewhere south of Courtenay that night, so after changing clothes I spent most of the journey charging devices in a small workstation just by the men’s loos, albeit hotfooting it to the Starboard deck just in time to see two humpback whales (one breaching, one spouting) thanks to the announcement by the captain. It was dry throughout the ferry ride, but by the time I got to Comox on the other side it was once more throwing it down. I googled cafes. Found a good one. Ate more food. Watched the rain bounce off the ground and batter the corrugated patio roof. Began texting warmshowers hosts.

I hadn’t travelled anywhere near as far as I’d planned, but I had time to spare, right? The one downside I’ve found so far to Warmshowers is that you don’t reliably get responses, so on this occasion I sent multiple messages, honestly not expecting anyone to reply with, what, an hour’s notice. But Andrew and Vickie did, and the welcome they extended was once again a tribute to this wonderful community of cycle tourists. Good food. A comfy bed. Interesting chat. I got to meet Kate and her friend Sam, both of whom worked seasonally for the island’s ranger /environmental service. I even got a police escort out of town the next day! Andrew is a recently retired policeman, and he was as kind to show me the way along cycle paths and back roads for the first (urban) ten miles, culminating in a top coffee shop, where it would have been rude not to stop.

Beyond the café, I made good, fast progress south. Fanny Bay provided puerile entertainment. Fanny Bay One Stop Shop. Fanny Bay oysters. Fanny Bay Firefighters are looking for new volunteers, and I immediately enrolled! Beyond, the route komoot recommended route took me inland, suddenly onto a single track path which I was fairly certain was beyond the bounds of ‘road riding’. I immediately doubted myself – komoot defaults to ‘road touring’, which might better describe my style of riding, but is notorious for sending you many weird and wonderful ways. But no. Road riding was ticked, even though (a) a signpost barred the way to cyclists, (b) it was rough, rocky, tree-rooted, and (c) now some downhill steps? The waterfalls in Little Qualicum Falls Provincial Park were admittedly impressive, and a nice surprise. And yes, coming this way did cut off a sizeable corner (much of it on busy Highway 4). But…?

Highway 4, which cuts across the island to Ucluelet and Tofino can’t honestly be recommended for cycling, and my decision to visit Pacific Rim National Park meant that I was about to do it not once, but there and back. A steady stream of cars, trucks, RVs, motorhomes and lorries passed by. It had begun to rain again, and the climb uphill was noisy and relentless. The road climbs up over a pass and then rapidly down the other side to Port Alberni, where I stocked up for a planned stealth camp ten miles or so further on in the most useless Walmart in North America. I could probably more quickly list what it did stock than what it didn’t, and after a good while trying to find things which didn’t exist in the air conditioned interior, I was even colder than before, and still just as wet through. I had two choices – I could check out the Lighthouse Church campground about 200m away, or I could continue. You know what I did, right…the sun came out and I was enjoying a cold beer from the neighbouring liquor store when a long haired seventy something guy pulled in on his mountain bike and camped up at the picnic bench next to mine.

‘This looks like the cyclist part of the site?’ he said.

In fact, the campground was as little a campground as Walmart was a food store. Ok. Not entirely fair. It had level ground. Wifi. A toilet. But the shower I was so badly craving would have to wait another night…the next day the weather was fine. I told my neighbour cycling camper that I had an ‘easy’ 58 mile day planned. I’ve been regularly riding days in the mid 60s to early 70s recently. Yet forecasting a day as ‘easy’ is like a curse; my half marathon on the sand on Savary Island finally caught up with me, and my legs had nothing in them. My sighs became more regular. Deeper. The scenery definitely picked up as I turned over the top of the main climb and I followed a river west. But I was super unimpressed by what my map seemed to indicate was ‘downhill’. The wind turned onto my nose, and I had to pedal all the descents. But the sun was strong, and and I very nearly got to see a bear, which I’d started to want to happen rather than to avoid. How was it even possible that I hadn’t seen one yet? But when the drivers slowed and warned me that there was a big black bear on the road just around the corner, despite my wish to sneak a little peek, my good sense won out. But what now? I hung out for 20 minutes in a layby, looking unseductive, befiroe deciding to try again on the basis that if nobody stopped to warn me then the bear must have gone! I ended up with ‘hey bear’ tourettes all the way to the campground though, and was astonished at one point when a bear replied!

‘Hey!’ came a voice from beneath some tarpaulins, wonderfully camouflaged into the trees. ‘Who’s there?’

I seem to be staying more and more in campgrounds recently, although that night I had little option, since once again I was staying on the edge of a National Park. At the junction between Ucluelet and Tofino a handful of basic campgrounds have been set up aimed at surfers and other outdoor travellers who can’t (or won’t) afford to the eywatering prices in Tofino. There was nothing glamorous about the site I’d booked, but it suited me perfectly. I got into some chat with a lovely guy who runs a fishing charter business locally at the picnic tables outside the Ukee Poke Bowl café attached to the site. In the winter he works as a carpenter in Fanny Bay he said, and I managed not to smirk. It’s interesting who engages in conversation with me – asks me what I’m up to – and who doesn’t. On the whole, it’s mainly men who approach me, which I find peculiar. Are women less interested? Or just less forthcoming? Or…?

The Pacific Rim National Park was as beautiful as anticipated. An asphalt cycle path has been built between the two main communities – Ucluelet, less touristy, more real, and cheaper by reputation, and the ‘jewel’ town of Tofino. Since the National Park stretched north to Tofino, I decided to head that way first, enjoying the speed and ease of riding along the flat without luggage. I would nip to Ucluelet later, right? Maybe even go for a 5 mile coastal run near there. The cycle path wound its way through the temperate rainforest; I took the occasional detour west to admire and enjoy the expanses of white beach at Wickaninnish, South Beach, Coombs, Long Beach. I’d been excited about the idea of browsing the shops in Tofino – it’s something I usually love, but on this occasion the notion of shopping confused me. I was looking for a rough and ready new choker necklace, but could find nothing rough enough, and there was no way I could transport anything else. Instead, I decided to go for a drink, but the number of people in the bar intimidated me, and I ran away. Took some photos of the sea lochs reaching north of there. Headed over to Tofino’s main beach for a quick (cold) swim before cycling back to the campground where of course I didn’t go for a run or visit Ucluelet after all – I’ve been trying to find an appropriate equivalent phrase to one’s eyes being bigger than your belly for cycle touring. My mind is stronger than my legs? Even without luggage, I’d once more ridden lethargically all day, and 45 miles felt more than enough even unburdened. It was time for a rest day, I thought, booking a second night at the campground. I had ages to get to LA.

The following day I didn’t move from camp at all. I finished the book I’d been reading that morning.  Had some video chats with family and friends. Washed my clothes and hung them up in the sunshine; there was a decent breeze, and I was sure they would dry by nightfall. Fail. The wind dropped. The fog rolled in. By next morning I could once more wring my clothes out. I headed five miles up the road to the rainforest walks, convinced that the sun would come out in the meantime. The trees were old and tall, and weighed down with up to 25kg of moss and epiphytes, the interpretation boards explained. Imagine being 800 years old and trailing that much luggage, is how that translated to the cycle tourist in me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been anywhere with so many different shades of green. But by the time I had returned to the campground to pack up and hit the road, I once more needed to wring my clothing out. If I will try and line dry in a temperate rainforest…?

It turned out that that fog only reached about a mile inland, where it was beautifully sunny and hot. I I must have looked quite the sight pedalling up the road, alternating wearing wet clothes to dry them and hanging items from my bike. But it worked! By the time I once more ended up choosing to stay at the Lighthouse campground (this time in preference to a bloody long end-of-the-day climb), everything was dry. And even though I’d added 10 miles onto an ‘easy’ 58, this time around with the benefit of a tailwind and fresh legs, it really had been straightforward. Quick.

Even though I know that my favourite days are those when I get up and on the road early, so often this seems to go out the window unless scorching temperatures or rain are forecast later that day. Even though I’d got up at 7, one coffee became two became…in fact I have no idea how I passed the time, but before I knew it, it was almost 11am, and I still hadn’t moved! What’s more, as I oiled the chain for the road, I suddenly noticed that the replacement tyre which the warmshowers host in New Denver had so kindly gifted me, was now bulging out its side. I quickly did a botch job of a repair, and emailed the nearest open bike shop in Nanaimo, over the top of the hill on the east side of the island. All bike shops within a large radius seemed to be closed on Mondays, so I really had to get there before 5pm. Sadly, this meant that I had to skip a wander through Cathedral Grove, one of the top tourist attractions hereabouts, although I’m not sure how spiritual an experience it might have been amidst the centuries old trees in the company of the passengers of the mile of cars parked both sides of the road…the climb had passed steadily, but downhill I had to watch my speed for fear of a blow-out. Nonetheless, I made good progress.  I arrived at the shop at 4pm, where a young guy greeted me with the replacement tyre I’d ordered slung over his arm – as if he were a bike tyre tree, and like he’d been waiting that way ever since I’d emailed that morning.

Before leaving on this trip, I’d dreaded the amount of mansplaining to which I was sure I’d be subject. Yet in fact there had been very little – until three men (both staff and customers) began arguing about what my best route was out of town, and where I might best stealth camp (an activity which none of them had clearly ever done). Of course, they were only trying to help, but the assumption that I would find one road too busy (being a woman and all) certainly got my back up. I did end up taking the advice of mansplainer #1 though, and was grateful for it. He had proposed getting off main highways for the last couple of hours of riding, and camping up at a beautiful little park right by the waterfront. And it was only when I turned off the highway that I suddenly realised how much the noise of heavy highway traffic had been getting to me, and how nice it was to ride on a (sealed) backroad. Of course, the park didn’t allow camping, but I was beyond worrying by then; I just waited until after sunset to pitch my tent at which point I was sure nobody would bother me.

I had a quiet night, and was woken by the first rays of sun turning my tent golden. Outside, I sat watching the sunrise until the colours had turned from gold to silver, and I’d enjoyed two coffees, before heading on my way. Coming this way had added a good 20 or so miles to my route, but it had been so worth it. From there, I’d originally imagined doing another loop out west from Cowichan towards Port Renfrew and Sooke, but I doubted the landscape would have differed much from what I’d already seen. Instead, I enjoyed a surprisingly wonderful day down the east coast of the island, along more backroads than I’d ridden on any day in Canada, through a mix of forested and farmed and coastal communities. I caught a final ferry ride across Mill Bay before a last climb over the bluff took into Saanich, a residential town which merges with Victoria city. When I knocked on the door of my warmshowers host, I was surprised to be greeted by two English accents, although there was something almost reassuring about enjoying the amazing meal they cooked me, and great conversation, with familiar reference points. The following day, my last in Canada, I cycled up Mt Douglas for a view over  the city before following their recommendation down to the coast to see how the rich lived in the massive villas which line the seafront, and into the city along Dallas road. I find it entertaining to imagine what it must be like to be rich – but only briefly so, since I find it hard to even briefly imagine. What I’m certain is that if I were rich then I wouldn’t have waited so long to replace my sleeping mat. I’d been holding out since staying with my friend Todd in Creston for Sea to Summit to send a replacement through its lifetime warranty. But apparently they need 10 to 15 days’ notice, and I’ve generally no idea where I’ll be staying in two days, let alone two weeks! It was time to just purchase a new one, and get a replacement sent to family in the UK. Sleeping well is kind of important after all…on the ferry from Victoria to Port Angeles in Washington State back in the US, I even needed to take an emergency sleep once I realised that the distance to LAS was 300 miles further than I’d thought. Oops. But there was still time for a visit and run along Dungeness Spit, and a mountain run in Olympic Park. Surely, no? I’ve got ages of time to get to LA. Just tell me, where’s the ferry buffet?! I need breakfast #3. And a spare letter M for the end of Voom if one’s got a scrabble piece spare.

PS I posted the below on social media about cycle touring in Canada, and thought it might be interesting to also share it here.

Farewell Canada. You’ve been great, albeit with some reservations when it comes to bike touring. The good parts? The Rockies – spectacular, and some of the best riding was when I could see views of mountains above the trees! (See below). The people – super friendly, but especially in Nova Scotia! Aso great to see people I hadn’t for ages. The coast – big long beaches, characterful coves, chilled atmosphere, with highlights including savary island and some parts of nova scotia and around tofino. The scale – there is something awesome about a slower pace of landscape change, and space. The wildlife, although i didn’t meet the big ones apart from whales, ospreys, eagles. Great cities – halifax, vancouver and victoria all appealed. The cons? The highways – not always true, but a lot of canada’s sealed highways are major and busy (any kind of back roads are unsealed) although drivers were on the whole ok. Managed nature – it feels like everything needs booked far in advance, paid for, and regulated. Mitigates against spontaneity and how essential that is for cycle tourists. How expensive campgrounds are for solo travellers, while most places you would want to stealth camp are prohibited. Never more so than in national and provincial parks, which should surely want to encourage independent outdoors travel, not make it prohibitive? Forest fires of course, and how this is becoming a regular thing. Middling (neither pro nor cons)? Weather – I’ve had everything thrown at me. Wet and cold and windy. Blistering hot. Lovely and sunny and warm. Trees – I love trees, but I’ve cycled A LOT of miles along tree tunnels, for mile after mile after mile, and if there aren’t mountains there are no views (even if you’re 100m from the sea, you can’t see it). It can become utterly relentless. Would I recommend bike touring in Canada? It’s a brilliant country, but honestly, it isn’t set up for bike touring. Of course, I’m setting it against touring in Europe which is a tough benchmark! This all said, I’ve had an awesome time. If I returned, I’d go back to Nova Scotia and cycle down all the back roads and peninsulas and go with more money and eat better! And if you fancy an adventure with lots of challenges, but a safe culture, then bike touring in Canada has much to recommend it!