{"id":2220,"date":"2011-09-27T12:15:04","date_gmt":"2011-09-27T15:15:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/?p=2220"},"modified":"2019-12-28T14:05:16","modified_gmt":"2019-12-28T19:05:16","slug":"when-things-go-wrong","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.worldbiking.info\/wordpress\/2011\/09\/when-things-go-wrong\/","title":{"rendered":"When things go Wrong"},"content":{"rendered":"

If there\u2019s one thing that\u2019s a certainty about bicycle touring, it\u2019s that Things Will Go Wrong<\/span>!<\/p>\n

Equipment will fail, uncooperative weather will foil carefully laid plans, the cycling companion with whom you thought you\u2019d be a perfect match will turn out to be an insensitive lout who cowers at high passes, whines as soon as the first raindrop splatters and expects you to whip up gourmet meals on the camp stove while he (or she!) lounges in the tent.<\/p>\n

As you\u2019d expect, things going wrong is nothing new to us.<\/p>\n

A short list of sufferings<\/h3>\n

We\u2019ve dealt with tropical diseases<\/a> in remote corners of Africa, roads that suddenly peter out<\/a> into deep, dark jungle, surly officials in dodgy third world countries threatening to lock us up<\/a>, and even the theft of a fully-loaded touring bike<\/a>.<\/p>\n

So when we finally pulled into the town of Dease Lake, stumbled into the grocery store and spotted the notice that read:<\/p>\n

Highway 37 Closed in Both Directions<\/strong><\/p>\n

Equipment is on site and working at various sites through the Ningunsaw Pass continuing to clear debris and restore traffic. Repairs to restore traffic flow at Burrage Creek Bridge are in process, and restoration with rock armouring continues.<\/p>\n

Estimated date of re-opening: unknown.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

we weren\u2019t completely beside ourselves with worry.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We’re counting on you, Canada<\/h3>\n

The road was closed. So what?  It would re-open eventually, wouldn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n

I mean, we were in CANADA after all.<\/p>\n

We weren\u2019t stuck in some place like the Congo where one might expect a washed out bridge to remain that way until some undetermined point in the future when some entity (probably not<\/em> the government) got around to coughing up the money to mend the infrastructure.<\/p>\n

But the Canadians, we were certain, would have dispersed determined crews who, with the help of heavy machinery, would be busy clearing debris and rebuilding the bridge.  Traffic would be flowing in no time, we reasoned.<\/p>\n

More serious considerations<\/h3>\n

In any case, we had more immediate worries than a washed-out bridge, asphalt tumbling down the mountainside and a few stray pine trees floating across the passing lane.<\/p>\n

Namely, we were in desperate need of shelter.<\/p>\n

After a long, wet and mostly miserable ride from the deceptively-named village<\/em> of Jade City (population 12), we were soaked to the bone.<\/p>\n

The Cassiar…a delightful ride under drier conditions<\/h3>\n

We were spinning our wheels south on Highway 37 (better known as The Cassiar Highway).  It\u2019s a favorite amongst cyclists and it\u2019s not hard to figure out why.<\/p>\n

While the Alaska Highway is little more than a soulless trunk road frequented by retirees in super-sized RVs plowing north to Alaska, the Cassiar Highway retains a frontier feel to it.<\/p>\n

The only settlement of any size along the entire 600 kilometer route is Dease Lake (population 650).  The road winds its way over hilly terrain, through dense forests of pine and hugs the banks of fast-flowing rivers.  The autumn scenery is spectacular as the spruce and cottonwoods lining the road burst into bright oranges and yellows.<\/p>\n

And there are bears on the Cassiar.  Plenty of them.  Before our ride down Highway 37 comes to a close, we will have spotted 25 of them roadside.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
A beautiful ride down Canada's Cassiar Highway.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\n

\"\"<\/a>
Riding through a stretch of the Cassiar devastated by forest fires many years earler.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/h3>\n

Route Map through Canada up to Alaska<\/a><\/h3>\n

Back to my story<\/h3>\n

As we huddle together in the relative warmth of the general store, in stride three young cyclists decked out in short-sleeved jerseys and tight-fitting shorts looking more like racers in the Tour de France than cycle tourists in the Canadian bush.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m buried under at least six layers of clothing and still shaking and shivering.<\/p>\n

\u201cAren\u2019t you cold? I blurt out.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not really,\u201d comes the reply.<\/p>\n

Humph.  Who are these hardy creatures, I wonder.<\/p>\n

\u201cFound a place to stay?\u201d I question.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, guy at the restaurant next door invited us to pitch our tents at his place.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not only hardy, but lucky.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, how nice,\u201d I say, forcing a smile.<\/p>\n

In reality I want to shout, \u201dAnd what about us?  Isn\u2019t there room for a couple more exhausted cyclists?  Can\u2019t you see I\u2019m freezing, night is falling and we\u2019ve no place to sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n

So much for cyclist\u2019s solidarity, I think, plunging into my very own pity party of one.<\/p>\n

What now?<\/h3>\n

Eric and I wander out into the cold, wet night and ponder the possibilities.<\/span><\/h3>\n

There\u2019s an RV park in town, purportedly run by a couple of curmudgeons who regularly turn down cyclists.   \u201cThis is an R-V park,\u201d they insist, \u201ctent camping\u2019s not allowed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I silently run down the list of possibilities: Police, Fire Station, churches, city park, random individuals with a penchant for acts of kindness.<\/p>\n

And there it is.  A house with a car park: the perfect shelter for the tent.<\/p>\n

A rather cheeky request<\/h3>\n

Eric raps on the door.  The porch light switches on and a middle-aged woman appears at the door.   I catch snatches of conversation as Eric explains our situation to the woman.  He gestures to the car park, which to my eyes seems the Shangri-la of all camping spots.  It\u2019ll be a reprieve from the rain lashing down on us, and that\u2019s all that matters.<\/p>\n

In a few moments he\u2019s back.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome, on\u2026there\u2019s room for us inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

And within moments I\u2019m peeling off wet layers of clothing and basking in the warmth of a cozy, heated living room.  Our host trundles off to bed and I slip into the shower, relishing every single drop of hot water.<\/p>\n

Back on the road?<\/h3>\n

In the morning we pack up the panniers and head off down towards Highway 37 South to check out the situation.  I\u2019m confident the Canadians have got the road cleared and open to traffic.<\/p>\n

But, no:  \u201cHighway 37 closed until further notice<\/em>,\u201d is as detailed as the information gets.<\/p>\n

Looks like we\u2019re stranded in Dease Lake.  Indefinitely.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
The Cassiar is still closed...what now?<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

As tempted as I am at the thought of another night with a roof over my head, I\u2019m loath to impose on the generosity of a stranger for a second night.<\/p>\n

Rescued<\/h3>\n

We set our sights on the Fire Station, and what do you know, we\u2019re in luck.  Fire Chief Cathy Pitre welcomes us with a warm smile.<\/p>\n

She strings up a tarp to protect us from the intermittent deluges, lets us in for a hot shower and allows me to throw in a load of dirty wash.  There\u2019s even WiFi at the Fire Station.<\/p>\n

Things have gone seriously wrong on our ride down the Cassiar Highway.  But with the intervention of some extra-kind Canadians, being marooned in a two-horse town miles from nowhere isn\u2019t turning out too badly.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
Breaking camp at the Dease Lake Fire Station.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Escape<\/h3>\n

After two nights camped out at the Fire Station we make our escape.  The road\u2019s still officially closed, but the really rough spots are a two day\u2019s ride further south.  We bank on the road re-opening by the time we roll into the area of the bridge wash-out..<\/p>\n

And it does.  Well, sort of.<\/p>\n

Vehicles are being piloted through once a day.  The officials in charge force us to throw the bikes in the back of a pick-up and snake our way through the \u2018danger zone\u2019 in the safety of a 22-vehicle convoy.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
This is what the road looked like before the safety-conscious Canadian Highway Authority let us through<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The scenery we pass is, I\u2019m certain, the most beautiful on the entire Cassiar Highway.  The sun has finally made a showing after a 14-day strike and I\u2019m held hostage in a mighty Dodge 4WD.<\/p>\n

Nope, life\u2019s not always fair.  Things go wrong, Roads flood, bridges collapse and cyclists miss out on the ultimate day or riding.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n\"\"<\/a>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhen things go wrong, you’ll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when things once start going right they often go on getting better and better.\u201d<\/p>\n

C.S. Lewis<\/p>\n