Day 7 – To Kelowna
N49° 50.706’ W119° 29.356’
I should have seen it coming. I should have recognized the inevitable. There would be consequences. You don’t get away with ridiculing the Catholic Church without there being consequences. And as could be reasonably expected, those consequences would be swift, ruthless and painful. Especially given that it’s Friday the 13th.
But a little bit of background, first. The day started beautifully. Up with the sunrise, I enjoyed some time sitting before the window in my room, watching seaplanes taking off and landing in the harbour, helicopters ferrying passengers to Victoria, trucks moving over the Lion’s Gate Bridge and two separate cruise ships gliding into the harbour. All this and a mug of tea is a nice way to contemplate the beginnings of the day.
Another view from another typical biker hotel.
It was a classic Vancouver morning. A little overcast, moisture in the air and the mercury in the thermometer just nudging the 15° mark. Just the kind of day that, if you don’t have somewhere to go, you’d want to find a little café where you could order a latte, sit on the sidewalk, read the newspaper and watch the world go by. We had places to go, however. People to meet. We were on our way out of town.
The trip out of Vancouver was straightforward and uneventful. We headed out East Hastings again (Mom can now let people know that her son took her to the downtown east side) to pick up Highway 1 just outside of Burnaby. Hitting the highway, Phillip Glass’ Symphony No. 3 on the iPod (we established yesterday that I’m complex, so I’m not going to entertain any more of those remarks. Are we clear?) we moved quickly through the early morning traffic. Soon enough, the High Occupancy Vehicle lane started, and – wonder of wonders – motorcycles are considered high-occupancy vehicles. Hitting the left lane, we sustained a nice easy 105km/h out of town. While all of the commuters sat in their cars in the right-most two lanes, we were able to keep up to highway speed all the way out of the city.
Stopping in Chilliwack for a mandatory rest break, we filled up with gas and had a morning latte at the Starbuck’s. Thus refuelled, it was back on to the highway heading for Hope. Hope is a bit of a crossroads in these here parts. From here, you can follow Highway 1 through the Fraser Canyon, take the Coquihalla straight through to Merritt or follow Highway 3, which meanders through the mountains towards Penticton. We were taking the road less travelled – Highway 3.
As we approached Hope, what looked like promising weather early in the morning turned into low lying clouds threatening rain. We could see clear sky way in the distances, and fervently hoped we’d be finding it – the weather was supposed to be sunny and warm in Kelowna – but in the meantime, inclement weather once more threatened. Heading on the Highway 3, the Hope-Princeton Highway, we quickly started climbing. As we passed through 1200 metres, we found ourselves actually in the clouds. For a while, visibility dropped down to no more than 50 metres or so, not ideal conditions for navigating winding mountain roads. I briefly contemplated turning around and taking the Coquihalla instead, but it actually goes through higher elevations – if it was foggy here, it would be doubly so there.
After the first pass, however, the mists of cloud receded, the sky opened up and what was once ominous became glorious sunshine. By the time the highway narrowed down to one lane, there was nothing but clear blue skies and fluffy white cotton balls of cloud. This was the weather that we had been hoping for.
Which brings us up to the point where we started this little update. Yesterday I commented that the RCMP on Vancouver Island could teach the Catholic Church a thing or two about contrition, given how quickly everyone slowed down and started doing the speed limit after passing a speed trap. That comment would prove to be either deeply ironic or deeply prophetic. Or, more accurately, a little bit of both.
As we headed up the Hope-Princeton highway where it turned into one lane, I quickly ran up to a blue Volvo station wagon, slowly making its way through the turns. I had narrowly missed being able to get past in the last passing lane, and patiently waited it out until the next one. Not that this was a huge sacrifice – they come often enough at this end of the highway. But once we got into the twisty bits later in the highway, I definitely didn’t want to be behind this guy. As we got to the next passing lane, however, the Volvo sits in the left hand lane and starts accelerating. Where he’d been doing less than 90km/h prior, he was now well up over 110 and climbing. He finally, grudgingly, pulled into the right hand lane and we were able to pass. Hopefully, he’d stay behind us and we’d be able to enjoy our ride.
Sadly, this wasn’t to be the case. As we passed by Manning Park about 30 minutes later, who is back in my mirrors again but the same blue Volvo V70. As we get to a straightaway, he starts to pull along side me in the left hand lane. He doesn’t really pass me, but he doesn’t fall behind either, and he’s sure not just falling behind. If you read enough motorcycle books that discuss defensive driving, you’ll quickly discover that there are two strategies available to you – slowing down, or speeding up. Interestingly, the frequently recommended one is to speed up – even at the risk of getting a ticket – as it’s better to have the problem behind you, rather than in front. Certainly I didn’t want to be following him through the switchbacks that lay ahead, and I had no idea what game he was playing. Unfortunately, it was right around this time that a second car materialized in the rear view mirror. A white one. Scanning to see if it had roof lights, this was quickly confirmed as they switched on.
We all saw this coming, right? Certainly, I should have. Thus far, I’d done the whole trip at about 10 or 15 km/h above the limit, fast enough to be interesting but slow enough not to be of interest to the constabulary. Apparently not this time. While I thought I was doing around 110 trying to stay ahead of the Volvo, the cop asserted I’d been doing 120. He was polite, he was informative, he wasn’t particularly cranky, but he wanted my license and registration. And that of the Volvo, who he’d also pulled over.
After he came back with the ticket, he explained my options. He let me know I had 30 days to consider them. And then he got downright conversational. Asked about the weather, and how the visibility had been coming through Hope. Warned me to watch out for the animals through the park. “The four wheeled animals. The four wheeled morons. We had one through here the other day, we clocked at 197 km/h, passing on the soft shoulder.” Turning to Mom, who still had her helmet on, he said in an exceptionally loud voice, “Four wheeled morons!” As we pulled away, I came to the realization that he didn’t raise his voice for her benefit; I’m pretty sure he did it for the benefit of the people in the Volvo, who he still hadn’t given a ticket to.
The scenery just outside of Princeton, BC. Future cottage, anyone?
Mom and I are both of the opinion that the policeman knew exactly what was going on when he pulled us over. He knew what the Volvo was doing, and he knew what we were trying to do. If I were a betting man, I’d say the cop rides a motorcycle. Sadly, this in no way stopped him from giving me a ticket. I probably should have just backed off when the Volvo came back into view, and kept to the speed limit I was comfortable with. In a perfect world, he would have been nailed by the cop and we wouldn’t have. Sadly, that didn’t happen, and I’m out $171 for the privilege. But, as I said, it’s Friday the 13th. And yesterday I dissed the church. And, truth be told, I didn’t want him passing me, so I let my ego get involved. And so there were consequences.
The rest of the drive into Princeton, while the scenery was still spectacular and the roads were still fabulous, was somewhat more subdued. I kept my eye on the speedometer, and mom kept her eye peeled for blue Volvo station wagons bent on retribution. Thankfully, there were no more policemen and no more Volvo sightings. We pulled off the highway for lunch, heading into the Princeton downtown, and lucked into a restaurant called “The Belair” It was impossible to tell what the cuisine was from the outside, and there were no menus posted, but it looked clean, low key, respectable and didn’t have the word “family” in its name, and therefore met the vast majority of my criteria for a restaurant on the road. It actually turned out to have only opened two weeks prior, and was doing a brisk business. Sandwiches, soups and salads later, we were feeling refreshed and ready to hit the road again.
Outside our lunchstop in Princeton… The Belair.
Highway 5A runs north from Princeton towards Merritt, connecting with 97C, which is itself the major east-west connector between Merritt and Kelowna. To call it a highway, though, is to label it above its station. There is no signage to announce its presence, and it actually starts as a residential street. If you’re going to ride 5A, you have to know it is there. But once you know it’s there, you have to ride it. The scenery is simply spectacular. The road runs up a valley that connects a series of lakes, farms and cabins that offer scene after breathtaking scene. It’s one of those valleys that Dianne, in driving through, found about 10 different locations where she’d love to live. That adds to all of the other locations we’ve found in our travels over the years, admittedly, but it says something about the quality of the scenery.
Along Highway 5A between Princeton and Merritt.
97C, however, is a full-on three lane highway running over the mountains west of Kelowna. 110 km/h the whole way, you start at an elevation of 250m, steadily climbing higher over the course of the next 50 km. Just when you think you’ve gone as high as you can go, you round another bend and find yourself heading a little bit higher. It’s a great swooping staircase of a pass that eventually tops out at about 1,760m above sea level. While that’s impressive, what happens next is even more so. In the next 20 km, you descend more than 1,200m. What’s a little disconcerting is that while in a car you would coast most of the time, on a motorcycle the engine breaking is sufficiently strong that even in sixth gear you have to drive it. So you’re hurtling down an 8% grade at 120 km/h, with your hand on the throttle giving the bike gas. It’s a very, very twisted feeling. Thankfully, as we descend it starts to warm up as well. The top of the pass was windy and 9°C. By the bottom, the wind had thankfully gone away and the thermometer on the bike was reading 22.5°.
Wolfgang takes a well earned break outside the ‘El’ in Kelowna. We had wine.
We got into Kelowna just after 4:30pm, checking into our hotel and getting the luggage sorted out. Mom’s final comment before I left her: “I just thought of something! We can buy stuff now!” Indeed we can, for soon Dianne will join us. As I write this, I’m sitting in my hotel room with the sliding doors wide open, looking out over the kiteboarders and the marina. Yep, it’s true – just another roadside hotel on our journey home. Dianne should be rolling in shortly from Edmonton. From this point on in our travels, we shall be three.
Just another roadside hotel. A roadside hotel with a view, mind.