When I finally sighted the pass it was not real daunting--from a distance
I dallied considerably at Rampart Creek because I was enjoying myself so much. It was a beautiful morning. I bought a couple of eggs from the Hostel managers and ate them along with one of my bagels.
I tried to climb part way to the top of Mt. Wilson with the other hostelers, but discovered that my Teva sandals just didn't have enough tread left for a good grasp on the mountainside. I found myself repeatedly sliding backward, got scared and eventually gave up, returning to camp by myself. I took a nude bath in the frigid stream behind the hostel, then relaxed around camp craning my neck skyward toward the surrounding mountains. I managed to scrounge a can of beer and just sat there absorbing the outdoors. This too was one of the finest days of my life.
I wondered aloud about staying here for a couple of
days, but felt compelled to make some progress, so reluctantly
packed everything on my bike and took off for Bow Summit--the
most dreaded hill of the Icefields Parkway (going south).
Getting to the summit was not quick. I rode for hours before I
actually reached the pass, but seemed to be climbing all the way.
But as I got closer, I started pumping harder and harder
in my small chainring. There were not as many rest stops on Bow
(in Banff) as there were on Tangle/Sunwapta (in Jasper). I stopped
a couple of times to wipe the perspiration from my forehead and
reapply sunscreen (it was hot and sunny). I didn't take any pictures
of the climb because I was working too hard. Amazingly enough,
though, I never started my huffing and puffing breathing which
accompanies the toughest of climbs. I just kept spinning in my
second-lowest gear, falling to the lowest only for a short time.
After the pass, there is a turnoff for a road to the summit and
a view of Peyto Lake. Rather than risk theft from my bicycle in
the vehicle parking lot, I opted to ride a steep (steeper than
the pass) road to the handicap parking lot. I felt absolutely
at the top of the world up there. I locked my bike against the
railing at the top of the summit and walked down to the Peyto
Lake viewing platforms.
The lake is an unreal greenish-blue hue due to glacial
silt (like Kluane Lake).
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All my careful security precautions failed. Despite locking my bicycle to a fence, I was robbed. A jade bear I had purchased in Jasper for my mother was stolen from my handlebar bag while I was viewing Peyto Lake.
I knew something was wrong as I reached the bicycle. The contents of my handlebar bag were strewn about on the tarmac. Because I reached the Jasper post office after it closed, I was carrying the jade bear (wrapped in plastic bubble wrap) in the front pocket of my handlebar bag until I could reach another post office.
I knew exactly who the thief was but I couldn't call the police. As a matter of fact, I caught the thief in the act as I returned, but I scared him away and I couldn't follow him to his treasure trove.
When I returned to the bicycle, he was tugging on the zipper of another pocket, trying to open it too, but I scared him and he flew away. The thief was a big black raven, who pulled open the zipper on my handlebar bag, took everything out (ate the fresh cherries) and flew away with my mother's jade bear.
I searched all around my bicycle, in the woods near the parking lot, but couldn't find the bear, so can only assume that the raven took it home. I yelled at him to go get the bear and bring it back. In fact, every time I saw a raven thereafter, I demanded that the bear be returned.
Indians believe that ravens have supernatural powers. They are incredibly bright birds--bright enough to rob me of my mother's jade bear.
When I started on this journey in Alaska, I saw the raven
through Edgar Allan Poe's Anglo-Saxon eyes as a bird of ill omen,
but as I traveled through Alaska and Canada, I came to appreciate
the bird for the mischievous trickster that he is in Indian mythology.
As they say, "I am the raven. I upset 
things. It's my job. It's
what I do!" Instead of portending doom, the raven keeps everything
exciting.
It is said in Indian myth that in the beginning, raven was the most powerful being and that raven could change into whatever form he wished. He had made all living creatures, but all lived in darkness. Raven found the sun being horded in a cedar box in the house of Sky Chief, so he changed himself into a hemlock needle and dropped into the water that Sky Chief's beautiful daughter was drinking. Then in her stomach, he turned himself into a baby, who asked to play with the ball (sun), whereupon he transformed back into a raven and flew into the sky placing the sun there for all to enjoy.
Because of his powers and role in their heritage, Native people do not kill ravens; and I talk to them aloud as I bicycle.
From Bow Summit, I had a leisurely ride through meadows,
to Bow Lake, where I sought fluids to replenish my
exhausted water supply.
I noticed an interesting log structure: the Num-Ti-Jah
Lodge on the banks of Bow Lake and pedaled there.
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As I enjoyed a root beer, I noticed that the food being
eaten by the hotel staff looked pretty good. I ended up registering
there for the night and eating an excellent chicken stir fry myself
in the company of two women cyclists I'd met on the road coming
out of Jasper.
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Though both Jasper and Banff offer great 10' shoulders
on all the two lane roads, they both fail miserably to accommodate
bicyclists at steeper locations. Both Tangle/Sunwapta and Bow
were incredibly dangerous for bicyclists. Whenever the grade gets
steep, the shoulders are eliminated in favor of a slow vehicle
lane and passing lane on the upward side. Bicyclists are forced
to ride in the right hand traffic lane. There is no shoulder.
These were among the worst of riding conditions so far on this
trip. For the most part, the buses would move over to the passing
lane when passing me, but many of the automobile, pickup truck
(no heavy trucks are allowed on the Icefields Parkway) and motorhome
drivers would stay in the right lane giving me no room at all.
At one point I put my left arm out as though I was turning left
(just to try to get a vehicle to give me some space) and a pickup
truck almost knocked it off. If I ever ride Tangle or Bow again,
I just might bring a baseball bat to defend myself with. Perhaps
if drivers realize they're close enough that I can knock out their
windows, they'll learn to give me space.
Bicyclists have the legal right of way. Drivers of cars, trucks
and buses do not; they only have a license to travel over the
way. I can (and do under these conditions) take whatever space
I need from the lane. I have no obligation to ride on the shoulder
even if there is one. In retrospect. perhaps I would have had
less close calls if I had ridden down the center of the right
lane, rather than along the right edge.
I was petrified. Numerous vehicles came far too close. At speeds
as low as 3 m.p.h. while climbing steep hills, I wobble considerably
(and often uncontrollably) from side to side and vehicles should
be giving me the entire lane instead of crowding as close to me
as they can. If I actually fell over, I'd certainly take up at
least 8' of the road.
Going down hill isn't much better. Going down Sunwapta, I reached
my fastest speed ever: 80 kph or 50 mph,
not because I wanted to, but because the grade forced me to. At
those speeds, I seldom ride on the shoulder; there's too much
debris and sand for a safe speedy descent. A couple from Holland
I talked to after Sunwapta, said their rear tire blew out from
heat build-up when they used the brakes on their tandem. For some
reason, vehicles seem to feel compelled to pass me even when I'm
going the speed limit. It sure would be great if the Parks eliminated
the slow traffic lane and swept the shoulders of debris. It would
be far safer for all.
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997