Carry On Up Brown Creek

Nordegg was a sweet little launching pad for all those outdoorsy types...like a NorthFace fashion show for the middle classes; well-tanned and well-weathered people savouring their last lattés and poring over trail maps.

First glance of the FTR was promising - partly paved and light gravel....the initial section was even busy with people launching various watercraft into a small aquamarine lake. That was all I needed. Decision made. I started north.

Brown Creek was my first FTR campsite - and what a debut...I don't think I can describe just how stunning it was more than the videos show and it's now No.1 on my fave list. Prime position was not without its problems however: I was the only one there, and there were signs of bear activity all over. My previous tactic in this regard,(alongside all the tips and tricks), was really quite simple: in a bear-eat-human world, all you have to be is the least tasty human. So when other campers were grilling delicious-smelling burgers, steaks and sausages, and arousing the olfactory senses of every critter within a 5 mile radius, my invisibility cloak of pasta, pesto, pre-cooked ham and cheese would doubtless keep me safe.

But with no sacrificial lambs... there'd only be one item on the menu: me.

...

Somehow I survived and even made it through the next night at Lovette River Campsite, despite it also being empty. The road however turned quite quickly into lose gravel, and combined with steep gradients it was challenging to stop the rear tyre slipping while going uphill under the weight of the bike; the unholy trinity of sand, hills and load. Perry and I had been here before however, and we were surefire professionals at sniffing out the smoothest path, meandering across the road between HGV tyre tracks - luckily it was a weekend and traffic was sparse.

On Sunday the FTR and I fell out with each other. North of Robb the road had become an endless sea of static gravel waves cresting every half meter and causing the bike to judder as if riding over rumble strips. I had lost the feeling in my palms by midmorning, and my bum was bruised from the gratuitous nonstop paddling. Either the heavy goods trucks carved these patterns, or they were gouged out purposefully to help motorised vehicles' traction in bad weather. I didn't care. I hated them vehemently. My previously pleasant bear-alerting calls of "Hey Bear?" and "Passing through!" were replaced by a barrage of curses and expletives, huffing and sweating.

By 50miles I was so shattered, drained and fed up I even googled the direct route to Vancouver. I feel bad for it now...a moment of real weakness that had me assessing fast forwarding these last, and possibly best, 1.5k miles. Dreaming aside, I didn't think I could even make the last 20miles I'd intended to cover today. When the final campsite (that I'd intended on skipping) came into view but was at the bottom of a hill, complete with river I could wash myself and my kit in, I gave up on the road. Those 20 miles would have to wait till the morning.

...

Monday morning broke early with the roar of straining diesel engines. In delaying my exit the FTR had now become a monstrously busy highway where every passing semi threw up clouds of choking dust, stinging my eyes and crunching between my teeth. It was grim. Some drivers slowed while passing me to minimise the tempests in their wake - others just didn't give a damn.

Finally, 3 hours later, the dust clouds parted and Hinton emerged into view.

Civilization once more.Read more