KVR

The Kettle Valley Railtrail (KVR) section of the TCT : "600km of abandoned railway corridors that hold unparalleled opportunities as recreational trails with one of the most dynamic routes in Canada, with some truly impressive scenery and spectacular views."

Sign me up!

Since it was old railtrack it wouldn't be over 2.2% gradient and should gently meander me through forests and along cliff faces without any of that zen-hoovering highway - perfect!

Handing back my lumberjack gloves before I got roped into splitting 100ft of fir tree, I said a fond farewell to Rick. It was a day's cycle to reach the start of the trail, I hadn't planned campsites, so needed to stock up in the next town, Nelson.

..

Throughout my entire trip, despite jaunts into Toronto and Montreal, I've wondered where all the gays were hiding. I mean I've seen a few, and perhaps my gaydar was skewed from London's large scene, but the ratio just didn't seem to balance.

Until now.

Nelson is it - The Emerald City. The yellow brick road endeth here, for Nelson has every shape, size, colour, and combination of gaydom proudly holding hands in the street, cackling deviously in the coffee shops, air-kissing cheek to cheek in the markets, and making terrible outfit choices (fishnet crop tops anyone?). Hallelujah!

I wanted to stay. There was fun in the air. It was only 11am on a weekday but the streets had a buzz and a schmoozy 'anything goes' bohemian vibe, however I'd only come 20miles and my internal discipline voice kicked in with a nagging tone. So, after several rounds of coffees, cakes and smoothies I could stretch Second Breakfast no more. I bid my cafe-culture companions goodbye and cycled off.

I'd managed to bag a WS host in Castlegar, whose garden I could camp in, and from there could join the trail the next morning refreshed and eager. Well, that was the plan, before Kelly's neighbours decided to reenact Woodstock. At first it sounded like a lovely Jonny Cash-type mashup with harmonicas, guitars and old mens' gravelly voices, but by midnight had decended into drunken neighbour wars, shouting from multiple houses, and over-the-fence (and over-my-tent!) heated arguments. It's not easy to sleep when there's a threat of flying garden furniture hitting your tent.

...

The morning's sleepiness was soon banished by the spectacular trail; zooming over hydroelectric dams and log flows; swinging precariously around unbarriered mountainsides with huge drops; teetering on creaking tresele bridges with missing boards and loose nails - it must have been one hell of train ride in its day.

I'd been especially looking forward to the tunnels, and the longest, Bulldog, just shy of a kilometre, drew me in with the cold, ominous blackness of a singularity; every lux of ambient light gradually stolen as I ventured deeper. I turned my torches off for just a few seconds to be engulfed by total blindness and hear the numbing silence broken only by the occasional drip echoing.off the cavernous craggy walls.

I have three or four more days of this - loving it!Read more