The Crowsnest and Me

Without question my preferred stretch of paved paradise in British Columbia is Hwy #3, affectionately named “The Crowsnest Highway”. She snakes from Hope in the west all the way through the Kootenays in the east, and one could spend a lifetime riding and enjoying her and neither find them self bored nor encounter a flat, direct, or straight section anywhere. Michealangelo himself could not have created a more perfect work of art if he were to dip his brush in asphalt and drag a meandering  line across this beautiful land of ours.

It is with more than a vague interest that I find myself preaching the virtues of travel on the Crowsnest Highway. Aside from the obvious majesty and beauty of the surroundings, and places unexpected that pop up along her entire route, Highway #3 has provided on more than one occasion in my life with a much needed escape route from various Metropoli that I have previously and do presently reside in.

I have actually tasted her pavement at one particular and unfortunate random locale (known in the 2-wheeled community as “the downward decreasing radius corner”), and while she took her ounce of leather and flesh from my body, she allowed me to continue on my journey...…humbled and sore, but continue nonetheless. Since that memorable episode I always remind myself to pay respect as I glide through that exact same curved stretch of her backside that took its toll so many years ago now.

On another not so memorable incident I misjudged the arc at infamous Saturday Creek crossing and firmly planted my Mother’s new sports car squarely underneath a rather large (and subsequently angry) semi-truck trailer. Ms. Crowsnest released me from that encounter with nary a scratch or bruise, and while the receiving staff at the closest emergency ward found it slightly difficult to believe the outcome of our rendezvous I realize now that this strange connection that we share has existed for longer than I have thought to consider.

If favoritism is bred from familiarity then I would have to say that the part of her I love above all else is the short but ever rewarding stretch from Penticton (via Hwy#3A) to Keremeos then eastward on to Osoyoos. Her corners are ever so subtle, her views so full of awe and coolness (as in Fonzie “coolness”), and her twists and turns so mesmerizing, they seemingly draw you in like the proverbial moth to a flame. Time is both advanced and impeded when you find yourself riding a section of 2 lane blacktop such as this. She hurries you along, whispering you into a certain place that is so enjoyable it seems as if the experience has concluded all too soon. At the exact same moment she also has the uncanny ability to delay time and space by providing you with so many morsels of tarmac seared to perfection you feel as if this dish will never end.

Experiencing the Crowsnest Hwy is recommended to all, and should be mandatory for the 2 wheeled crowd. I often wonder if those Friday evening boulevard pirates realize what awaits them....…if they would only venture a slight bit further than continually "re-cycling" Main Street or posing at one of the multitudes of Timmies parking lots. She was without question created for motorcycles and if I were ever limited to riding a single digit for eternity, there would be no question the number I would choose. I have actually been considering for some time now inking her trademarked road sign on my body, the previous scars she provided me have long since healed, and while the memories of our meetings will last a lifetime I think a permanent homage to my all time favorite stretch of road in BC is in my immediate future.

Before I depart I should also add that The Crowsnest will also always hold a very special and important place in my heart. It was beside this favorite stretch of highway of mine that we bid a final goodbye to my Mother and scattered her ashes in the Similkameen River, an equally majestic body of water that intertwines with this extraordinary piece of pavement and flows through the same grand mountains above and spacious valleys below like a twisted twin. Ms. Crowsnest is, like my Mother was, certainly a one of a kind.

Out The Front Door................

In searching for the places unexpected, points of interest, and the sights sounds and smells that intrigue us we sometimes neglect to look under our own noses as we head out the door on yet another distant adventure. We live in such a captivating part of this fine Country, that one could not toss a dart at a map pinned to a wall without hitting a target that proves to be a worthy destination.
I decided it was time to take a well deserved stress break from the virtual support of my Nations athletes as they strived for athletic excellence, step out my front door, follow that trail at the end of my street that has been begging at me….. and see where she leads.

Our “Away Team” consisted of Tracy and me, along with a couple of good friends, their ever-willing to hike forever kids, and our dogs. It is amusing to note that my level of interest and excitement no matter the degree always pales in comparison to the utter state of joy and bliss our dog Jet finds himself in when he comes to the realization that he too is headed out for another journey.

We headed south from our home, passed through the looking glass at the end of the paved world, and hiked into adventure. I had reconnoitered the approximate route the weekend prior and knew we had a relatively easy 5K walk in front of us. As always (and I could not have it any other way) we prepared and packed a picnic to accompany us. I figured that a lunch of sandwiches with roasted peppers and zucchini, feta cheese, tomato and spinach all jammed between thick slices of fresh homemade bread would do our appetite well at some point along the hike. With the dogs breaking ground we followed the trail as it snaked through small rocky canyons and alongside the grassy slopes that blanket the hills surrounding our Valley. During the hike it became apparent that we were bidding a fond farewell (hopefully) to Old Man Winter and enthusiastically welcoming in Ms. Spring. We passed by bouquets of buttercups as they reached out from between the rocks yearning for that ever important ray of sunlight. Our hike was accompanied by the soundtrack of local birds, singing, chirping and chatting away with each other as we strolled past. The deer were also out and about, keeping a watchful eye on these two-legged interlopers as they grazed and sunbathed in the noon-day sun. It was a perfect day for a hike, fantastic conditions at that, I do not believe it could have been scripted better.

And then something quite remarkable presented itself to our party. We had been following a power line access road for a short distance, and as we rounded a corner we noticed the tell-tale warning sign of a string of yellow caution tape blocking access to a small sheltered rocky nook. We had found what we believed was a First Nations camping site long since utilized. The rocks seemed to poke out from their wall creating a small but perfect natural tent, and if there were any question as to who used the spot all was answered when we noticed the well positioned pictograph on the inner wall. We take it for granted, it seems, that others had tread on this land long before “we” laid our tarmac and rail tracks here.  

It seemed like the perfect spot to park our weary selves and devour the aforementioned picnic lunch we had prepared. Of course we never would have imagined that we would have dined there with the ghosts of long since past Aboriginals, sitting on the bluffs looking out over the beauty of Skaha Lake, our breathtaking Okanagan Valley and beyond.

We carried on, after refueling, following the crude trail on to our eventual (and hopeful) destination. Not long after, that feeling took hold of me, you know the one……..the feeling that someone (or something) is watching (or worse, following) me (in this case, us). I stopped, looked across a small divide and noticed a gang of Bighorn Sheep glued to our every step. They were perched atop a granite face of gargantuan proportion, hanging out as if clinging to the vertical side of Earth was as commonplace for them as the gravitational pull that I am faced with every single time I pass by a lone curious dirt path feeding off any paved stretch of highway. They watched, observed and then merrily continued upward and on with the tasks of their day. I’m certain one of them took notes so they could later discuss the ever so odd, flat-footed, and clumsy creatures they happened upon that day. As we kept moving along, following the dogs that were sniffing the trail ahead, we happened upon another set of Native pictographs. Apparently we were “on the right path”, as we trekked along what must have been a well travelled route a few hundred years ago. One can only imagine what this trail had seen over the centuries, and what stories it could tell if it could only utter the words.  

Not long after, the trail said goodbye and spit us out of the rocks and canyons and onto the weathered plains just outside of Penticton. Civilization was once again parked squarely in front of us, and from our newly acquired vantage point we were able to look out over the entire city below. We were led unceremoniously down and thrown back onto the real world that was marked with a simple paved road. A sign, erected by “the city” pointed the way back to yet “more city”……..though I must admit I preferred the hundred year old painted rock signs that had been leading us along prior to these hollow tin and metal structures. From there all we could do was locate our drop vehicle (the ever so evil mini-van), pile in, turn tail and head back home to reality.

I could not imagine a finer land to live on, or a more preferred Country to call my own. It seems a strange coincidence that I find myself waxing nostalgic with pride over this slab of partially frozen rock called Canada at the exact same moment as 2500 of our finest athletes have managed to pull this identical feeling, intensity, and outward showing of pride from an otherwise reserved population. It is now obvious why I bleed red, and grossly apparent that I am among the most fortunate of individuals……to be able to live free to explore the places that intrigue me within this Country of mine.