Well, I did it! I crossed over into Alberta at 11:36AM local time, as U2 sang "Where the Streets Have No Name" on my Walkman. I've got two tapes with me, one a mix of some favorite songs, and the other the latest U2 album "All That You Can't Leave Behind" (appropriate) that I picked up at a gas station outside Salmon Arm. And it's funny how lines of lyric on both tapes keep popping out as particularly apt. I didn't plan that when I chose the songs; I just picked ones I like, but songs like "Against the Wind" or "Highway to Hell" really strike a chord now. And the U2 tape has a song called "Elevation." 'The goal is elevation.' How true that was today!

I'm now over the Continental Divide, which means that if I were a drop of water, gravity would carry me all the way to the Atlantic with no effort at all. I've never envied a drop of water before. It also means that from now on, most of the rivers I travel alongside will be going my way. With the exception of the trip down the Thompson River valley, every time I've seen a river in BC I've been going upstream. Now I'll be going down. It doesn't seem natural, somehow.

Last night in the church was almost as cold as Bridge Lake. I kept my jacket on, plus a sweater, gloves and hat, and pulled my sleeping bag over my legs, and it was almost bearable. Still, stretching out on a pew is never comfortable. In the morning, I maneuvered my bike out the door, turned around to close it, and turned back to see my bike slowly toppling over. Which wouldn't have mattered much, except that this was at the top of a flight of stairs. Shit! I made a mad grab, but watched as my bike flipped end over end all the way down. I was sure the handlebar bag would have bought it, but it was ok. Everything was ok, except I had to take a moment to loosen and straighten the handlebar assembly.

Had breakfast at Truffle Pigs (pancakes) and spent some time at the Burgess Shale exhibit. It didn't really have much in the way of fossils there. I toyed with the idea of a side trip to see if I could get to the actual fossil site, but it's apparently illegal. More trouble than I need, although part of me thinks it would be worth it.

I was also lucky, on the way up the Kicking Horse, to catch a train going through the Spiral Tunnels. Three different sections of train were visible at different places. I took a picture, along with the busload of tourists who had also pulled over.

For the most part, the climb wasn't as bad as I thought, and then it was an easy ride to Lake Louise where I relaxed for about an hour, browsing shops, buying postcards and going through the museum.

I had a choice of roads: The Trans-Canada or the Bow Valley Parkway. I took Bow Valley because it was slightly shorter, and was supposed to be scenic (so said the lady at the museum desk), but I came out the other end 50 km later with a feeling of wasted effort. I think 'scenic' really just means more places to stop and hike or camp. Most of the road was closely hemmed in with trees, so views were blocked anyway. It reminded me a bit of the Horrible Highway 24. It didn't have a huge climb like 24, but it did wander all over the place, left, right, up, down. And it wasn't as cracked as 24, but it did have cracks, and each was a major bump. It was also very isolated, which creeped me out a little. Who knows what might jump out of those woods and try to eat me? If that were to happen, I'd just as soon have lots of cars going by, thank-you. I suspect that the Trans-Canada would have been flatter too, and really, it must be just as scenic. I mean, it's all the same mountains, right?

There was a little general store at Castle Mountain, and here's something odd I've noticed about this part of the country - every little store seems to have its own little Internet pay kiosk. They're everywhere!

I know you aren't supposed to feed the wildlife, because it makes the animals seek humans out, but I made an exception. I saw a little community of squirrel-like animals, and I opened up a peanut butter container I still had from the Best Western, and threw it to them (I doubt that it will cause problems of squirrels attacking people). They seemed to love the smell, but I don't think they could quite figure out how to eat it. They just kept running around with it and taking it away from each other, which was pricelessly funny. Goodness knows what they made of it.

Just when I was thinking that I hadn't seen much wildlife so far, I saw a large deer (elk?) by the side of the road. I kept a careful distance as I took the picture. Just past the next bend, there were four more, that I think were females. Another bit of local wildlife: I didn't see too many cars, but I passed 7 cyclists and a rollerblader going the opposite way. All seemed to be on daytrips.

As for the scenery, it was beautiful, but there's not much point in trying to describe it. Mountains are mountains. I took lots of pictures though, and a picture is worth a thousand words. Unless of course you're talking about something like 'freedom' or 'decency,' and then a word is worth a thousand pictures. Sorry to sound flippant, but honestly, I'm just sick to death of mountains.

Trevor described Banff as being like one big Robson Street, and he didn't mean it as a compliment. Well, I like Robson Street, and I liked Banff too. He said that the shops were lacking in character, but it seems to me that it's not the shops that give a town its character, but the people. Like Robson, Banff is full of people of every kind, from all over, that you can talk to, or listen to, or just watch. It's ironic that I should like Banff because of the people, when I've said several times that I'm not very good around them. It's weird; when I'm alone, I wish I had someone to talk to, but when I'm around lots of people, I want to get away. I can't really explain it, although I've thought about it a lot.

Anyway, I went down the main street (Banff Ave) and right off the bat, I ran into the Four Musketeers! They had gotten in yesterday. Not to sound smug, but I think they were pretty impressed to see me here. And really, why not sound a bit smug? I guess that you have to actually accomplish something before you get the right to give advice, but crossing the Rockies is certainly an accomplishment, so for the record, here's my advice to anyone crossing Canada by bike if you're feeling discouraged: Don't make any decisions until you've crossed the Kicking Horse. Just make up your mind to get past it, and reevaluate then. It's amazing how it changes your outlook, just having it behind you.

My spirits needed a little rejuvenation about now. I went to the end of Banff Ave and took THE picture that all guidebooks have to take of Banff, the one looking down the street with the mountain in the background. I also checked out the library, but they charge for Internet use, and had no slots available anyway. So, I ate at McDonalds and went out to the hostel.

This place sucked. There's no other way to put it. Right off the bat, it wasn't in town, but 3 km up a mountain road. Whose idea was that? Good grief!

The place in Revelstoke had four beds to a room. Here it's six beds, in a room half the size. There are no quiet places to sit and relax, it's much too hot inside, and from where I'm sitting now I'm bombarded by the sounds of the TV on one side and a radio on the other. It feels claustrophobic. The couch has tables almost up against it, so everyone who passes has to squeeze by. I was also hoping to see The West Wing tonight, but 2 loudmouthed guys from California have been nailed in front of the TV watching two hockey games back to back. I'm totally bored, and I feel more alone than I did coming through the wilderness. I feel out of place, and just want to leave. I think that I feel out of place for a very good reason: I AM out of place. I don't belong here, these aren't my people. Everywhere I went, I wanted to be somewhere else. I even got up to walk to town, hoping to find something interesting happening, but I only got a little way when I thought that there was no point walking all that way just to feel out of place down there too. So I went to bed around three, after a succession of mindless latenite TV.

I like big cities, which may seem like a paradox if a person likes to be alone, but not much of one. After all, you can be very anonymous in a crowd. I like having all the amenities close at hand. I also like small towns like Lytton or Field, for their intimacy and laid-back pace. I like medium-sized towns like Kamloops or Salmon Arm for their combination of the best of both worlds. But I don't like Calgary one bit!

To everyone who lives there, please accept my apologies...but I found Calgary dirty, ugly, poorly planned, poorly built, and frustrating.

But, start at the beginning. I was determined to get here today, but I started with a big breakfast at the hostel. It was buffet, so I wanted to soak them for as much as possible, but I could only eat half a plate. The road was nice and downhill at first, but got hillier around Canmore. In fact, the road today was pretty grinding. Nothing near as bad as the last few days -- in the short run, the hills were more tedious than crippling - but in the long run, it added up. There were rewards though. In one place, a fence ran alongside the road to keep out wildlife, and three young deer suddenly appeared, bounding along the inside of the fence, keeping pace with me for several moments before disappearing back into the woods. Or, finally leaving the mountains behind; at one point the road ahead seemed completely girded round with them, but then as it arced to the left, a gap opened up like some sort of slow-motion magic trick. I took a picture, but I doubt it captures the sense of emptiness behind that gap, like I was looking at the end of the world. I couldn't wait to get over there and peer over the edge.

After about 50 km, I was truly out of the mountains into gloriously flat land. It happened so fast, the change. This was where all those little mental calculations you make (25 km/hr for four hours equals 100 km) actually start to mean something, because you really can keep up your speed for hours at a time.

At the 80 km mark there was a big hill, rising in stages like a ziggurat. At the top I learned that it was called Scott Hill, and had an elevation of 1410m. Yes, that's right, even higher than Rogers Pass. It was here that the miles started to wear. The last 40 km felt almost like a replay of the Battle for Kamloops, as another strong headwind kicked up. But, like I said, I was determined.

When the outskirts started appearing, I tried calling Kim's friend Kyle, but that turned out to be a total bust as it was a wrong number. Great - now I have to wonder if Kim was playing games with me. I fought the temptation to go to a hostel again, but I was too tired to go to a residential neighborhood near a bike shop and a photo place. Hostel it is! So, I headed for the city center, and was lucky enough to find a bikepath that went straight there, and this was the most impressive thing I've found in Calgary so far. That may just be because the bikepaths in Vancouver are so terrible (remind me sometime to rant about the path along the Skytrain. It's so much an afterthought that it might have been a better idea to just forget it and buy a few extra traincars). My opinion of Calgary started to form from the roads I was on; it's all just so messy. Cracked pavement, disappearing sidewalks, meandering routes.

I seemed to have to deal with a lot of stupid people today too. Check me on this, in case I'm the one who's crazy: You work in a gas station, and someone asks for directions. You look up the phone number of a hostel for him. Don't you make particular care to make sure the number is correct? Or, the guy at a bikeshop in the outskirts of town. I asked if he knew any good bike shops downtown, and he says "No, not really." Then he starts giving me directions downtown, using landmarks I don't recognize, I explain that I'm from out of town, cycling through, and he then tells me that if I want to go downtown, there's lots of bikeshops there. Excuse me, isn't that what I asked to begin with? You get the idea.

The hostel is quite a bit better than Banff, although part of the reason that I feel that way, may have nothing to do with the place itself. More on that later. I dropped off my gear, and headed into town to drop off film, get a tune up, check out the library, all the typical things. To do all that I had to walk for two hours. No exaggeration. And in all that time, I didn't see a single bookstore. Another reason to dislike Calgary.

Back at the hostel, there were eight guys to a room. Get eight guys in a room, and it's a safe bet that one will snore, and another will stink (if they don't, guess what -- it's you!). Thankfully, I thought to bring earplugs on this trip. I had bought some Hamburger Helper, and cooked it for dinner; that was around nine. It seemed like it might turn out to be a replay of last night, as I didn't really want to go to my room and listen to seven guys gabbling, and I didn't really have anywhere else to do but hang around. But then I was out front getting some air, and met an absolutely wonderful girl named Karen. She and I just seemed to hit it off immediately (it helped a bit that I thought she was extremely attractive, of course). We talked about books, and the relationships between science, religion and art, and what it means to be spiritual without God. I told her about my trip, and she told me about hers. She's from Montreal, and is driving from Kamloops to Nova Scotia with a friend (Mike) before she goes home. The title of this report is something she said at one point, that I thought was just hilarious. She has a boyfriend back home (sigh), but she invited me to drop by when I get to Montreal. It was pretty late by now, but we weren't ready to go to bed, so we went downstairs to the pool room (which I didn't even know was there, and shot some games. She beat me two out of three, and it was pretty obvious that she was better at the game than I was, but I put in a fair showing for an amateur.

Anyway, what a difference from Banff, when I was so depressed. This is the sort of experience I was thinking of when I planned this trip. We exchanged email addresses, and I feel so much more optimistic about continuing on. Thank you Karen. See you later!

I was up earlier than I had to because I wanted to see Karen off and get a picture (so you can all see what I mean when I say she was beautiful). Just as well too, because I had a lot to do today.

Karen's friend Mike turned out to be the same guy I met last night out on the front steps after midnight last night. He was just back from a 'pub crawl' and was talking about all the trouble he got into, the guys who jumped him, the girls who offered him joints, the bouncers who bounced him. Like that. No offense, but he seemed to me like the kind of guy who attracts that sort of trouble, especially when he's drunk.

So, they were out on the front steps this morning, packing up their car, and there was another guy hanging around, a hippy type that I took a mild dislike to. He was going on about the summit protest in Quebec, and how cool it was. "It's not about the protest, it's about the party," he said.

That attitude pisses me off. For starters, protesters in general turn me off, even if I agree with their cause. There's never any excuse for letting your passions get out of control, and when people start waving signs and shouting slogans, it's like their minds go blank and any opportunity to solve a problem goes out the window. There's also such an air of fashionability about it. "Hey dude, protest in Quebec! Let's go!" "Cool, what's the issue?" "Who cares? It's a protest!" Like the guy said, it's just about partying; an excuse to act like a jerk in public and feel good about yourself at the same time.

And the ones who do know the issue seem to get off on the anger and the self-righteousness too much. I hate to see guys provoke the cops into fights, then go off to find a camera to look groggy in front of.

I swear, it's the ones with the least to say who talk the loudest. I'm not sure anyone who goes to these things has anything worth hearing to say about them. In this country, everybody has a voice. Some like to pretend that their voice is being suppressed, when the truth is that they just don't have anything to say.

At one point this guy said that it was about suppression, and "suppression is bad." I really wasn't arguing with him at this point, but now I just had to say something like "No it isn't, civilization is based on it." Which is basically true, I think; what would happen if nobody suppressed their natural impulses? He didn't really know what to say to that. If you want to argue that it's good to cut loose once in a while, fine, I'll agree. But a protest is not about partying, pal.

Anyway, the rest of the day was concerned with picking up photos, typing up my notes for four hours, picking up my bike and watching tv in the downstairs lounge. I got a new rear tire on my bike; I pretty much rode the shit out of the old one (although it was almost a year old already). Saw a free slide show at the hostel, basically an ad for a tour. The kitchen fridges were cleaned out today and they threw out my dinner because I didn't have a label on it. Did a load of laundry.

Dorm rooms here are awfully stuffy at night.

BC

Part 2