Nootka Sound aboard the cargo ship M.V. Uchuck

Cycle across Vancouver Island, then soak up the history on a working vessel

When people ask why I go where I go, I tell them it’s “part curiosity and part stubbornness”. The curiosity part is usually prompted by a map. My Vancouver Island Backroads Mapbook, for example, shows an east-west Highway 28 between Campbell River and Gold River that ~ by following a river valley ~ allows a shorter and more level crossing of the mountainous island than Tofino’s trafficked Highway further south.

More intriguing still, when the solid line of highway ends at Gold River’s pier, a dashed line takes up the roadway’s westerly route and continues into the water! It heads west towards the village of Yuquot, then curls around Nootka Island to head northwards into long, fingerly inlets with names like Tahsis, Esperanza and Zeballos.

Practical Dances for Travelers

When you travel with someone, you learn how to share a trip’s rhythm

"Take a moment to enjoy the simple pleasures that surround you every day"

The Canadian customs line was moving slowly. Most of the passengers coming up from Seattle on the Greyhound waited sleepily in line, but I was curious about the unusual baggage of a couple of travellers in front of me.

Gurney-style, they’d carried a couple of beaten-up and duct-taped cardboard boxes out of the bus’s luggage compartment. They also unloaded two old canvas backpacks, a milk crate with a wire basket bungyed inside it, and a plastic Chinatown-style shopping bag. The tip of a bike’s front fork peeked out of one torn-up corner of one of the cardboard boxes.

Standing behind them in the line, I helped push their considerable pile of gear forward each time a passenger stepped forward to be questioned by a customs officer. I turned to one of them and asked if they were in the middle of journey. Her eyes shone as she explained that they’d just biked down the Baja Peninsula and would be finishing their trip in Coquitlam.

Roger’s Pass and Me

A web-footed West Coaster ponders snow, slush, and sickening spins on black ice

I’ve lived in Vancouver for thirteen years and naively believed I’d left winter driving behind. It waited for me one December weekend at the crux of Yoho, Kootenay and Banff National Parks. Winter road report: packed, slippery in sections with occasional panic patches.

Toqued and goretexed, Jen and I bravely slushed into Revelstoke after a couple of hours of front-wheel driving along the Trans-Canada. While I concentrated on keeping the Mazda inside two furrows on the road, Jen ~ fresh from a stint in internet marketing ~ remarked how the endless flakes of alien snow looked like a screen saver flying into the windshield.

“When does snowmobile season start?” I asked a Chevron attendant, noting the parade of Ski-doo-toting pickup trucks gassing up at the pumps. “Honey,” the attendant drawled as she handed me a tourist map, “It’s been snowmobile season for two months“.

Village Hostels on the Sunshine Coast

Three coastal “backpacker B&Bs” welcome budget travelers north of Vancouver

Marney and son Coulter of Up The Creek Backpacker's B&B in Roberts Creek

I used to sell panniers at Vancouver’s Bike Doctor and when novice cyclists would come in and say they were going to spend a “relaxing” weekend biking the Gulf Islands, I’d cringe. There’s got to be an easier way for these people to discover the simple joys of bike touring, I thought; a destination with less gravity-defying hills, a shorter ferry ride, comparable island cachet and cheaper accommodations.

Since then I’ve thrown my bike on the #257 Horseshoe Bay bus and confirmed that this place does exist but the catch is ~ it’s not an island; it’s the thirty or so kilometers between Gibsons Landing, Roberts Creek and Sechelt known as the Sunshine Coast.

Each of the three villages are spaced fairly evenly apart and are linked by the Georgia Strait coastline, the paved-shouldered Highway 101, and a bike-rack equipped Sunshine Coast Transit System. The curious traveller can sample a day’s worth of arts, eats and adventures by bike or bus, then settle into an cozy hostel-type accommodation when it gets dark.

Merridale Cidery in Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island

Family-run apple orchard grows, squishes, ferments and pours their own ciders

Terry and I were waiting on the corner of Granville and Broadway for the #601 bus to take us to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal, when a grey pony-tailed fellow in mirrored sunglasses rode up on a blue ten-speed with two shopping bags hanging from the handlebars. He said he was going to Jamaica.

“How are you going to get to Jamaica once you’ve run out of land?” I asked him, motioning to his bike. He looked at me hard. “What are you, writing a book?”

“Er, no,” I back-pedaled, “I was just wondering in case I want to try it myself.”

Our journey ’s motivation was much simpler: we’d take our bikes on the ferry to Vancouver Island, cross the Saanich Peninsula, jump on the Mill Bay ferry, and cycle the rolling hills and smooth blacktop around Cobble Hill’s Merridale Cidery.

The family-run cidery grows apples, cultivates honey, and squishes the two together to make a sweet, hi-test cider called Cyser. I wanted some, and I figured it was worth a weekend of camping and riding to get it.

Cycling to Pitt River Hot Springs

Vancouver-area pools are accessible by boat and bicycle ~ but not by car

[Updated July 2009. Originally published in Adventure West Magazine, October 2004. Photos by Luke Moloney. ]

My trusty B.C. Backroad Mapbook refers to the Pitt River Hot Springs as one of the most scenic hot spring destinations in Southwestern B.C. Having been to a few over the years and this one in particular in August I have to agree; and the best part is that it’s gurgling away in our own backyard, yet utterly inaccessible to the car-bound.

To us crafty multi-modal adventurers, however, it’s a simple matter of combining bus, bike and boat. The reward is a sweet, sand-bottomed pool carved out of a canyon shelf that overhangs the rushing Pitt River. An upper, hotter pool holds the spring water until it is ready to be sluiced down a rock crevasse into the river-side pool. There, six or seven cyclists can get naked, settle in, and watch shreds of cloud slip down between the canyon’s fern-and-moss-covered wall to meet the river’s milky spray.