July 22: Leaving Heinsburg is a long uphill climb on a different dirt road from the one I came down on. Bear scat - filled with the red undigested seeds of Saskatoon berries that they're now feeding on. At least, so far it's still berries they're feedidng on and not me. Woods on both sides of the fairly steep incline that I again have to walk up. Great bear coverage.
At the top, on Hwy 646, a woman cycles up beside me. Just as with Joel, no one in the area cycles so, of course, she's curious.
On Aug. 8th, she, Jackie, will join her friend, Deb, and they will cycle from Edmonton to Vancouver. Says Deb, from Newfoundland originally, is tiny, strong, and had no kids so doesn't have this 'pot belly'. Her's is barely noticeable. She should see mine. Deb's husband is accompanying them in the motorhome. I'm instantly jealous because 5 years ago when I first planned this trip I had the promise of a motorhome which only this year was sold to someone else. But only for an instant. I couldn't have afforded to operate it, and if someone had agreed to drive it for me, then I would have been at their mercy of when and where we come and go or finish up. I am now getting so used to tenting that I could fall asleep on the lawn of any park, and feel very comfortable. Still, to be able to travel without heavy panniers and tent and sleeping bag would have been so enjoyable.
Jackie is worried about being strong enough to do the trip. She, too, is middle age, but sleek and in great shape from the looks of it. She and Joel both wear the beautiful cycling clothes whereas I wear totally unorthodox clothing.
I mention that Joel said it always takes him the first 10 km. before his legs start to feel really strong, as it is for me, as well. The same for Murray.
My great friend, Lucas, explained one time that the whole blood system has to become oxygenated first, and then that leadened feeling dissipates.
Long stretches of woods. At one crossroad, I cycle down the sideroad 100 feet, put down blankey, and go to sleep at the edge of the dirt road leading immediately down into a deep valley. Down below me is ranchland which looks beautiful from up here.
At Tulliby Lake, I eat lunch at a restaurant filled with local people. Learn that their school has only 3 classrooms, each with 3 grades.
A man said you could never cycle the trail near here as it's so rough n grown in. The ATV's can hardly manage.
Really threatening dog tied beside the door and I need to secure my bike near it. I ask the dog if it likes energy bars, and it does. On the way out, it has since fallen asleep and awakens as I'm unlocking the bike, forgetting our past friendship for a moment. Barking and growling at me. One of the children says that it always nips them - a big mutsy dog that looks like it might have Shepard in it. It's chain is none too long so, of course, so it would be irritable.
Text home so they know where I am as it's miles of countryside between the next stop: "Tulliby lake. Lunch over, on my way to Onion Lake."
When I first came upon the sign, Onion Lake, it is 10 miles before what I had earlier noted, and thought, yeah! Onion Lake's closer than I thought.
Not!
That was just the eastern side of the reserve.
Onion Lake is a huge native reserve on the border of mid north Alberta and Sask.
There are a couple of great photo ops here but I don't stop. My obsessiveness is kicking in, I guess, to go to the next place.
It seems 92 percent of Albertans drive pickups. Passing through the reserve, I happen upon a auto graveyard. It's all trucks, mostly rusted out, of course, but with one little beetlebug VW which is green with a yellow stripe, sitting just off from the rest of the vehicles and looking so cute with the long grasses and wildflowers growing up around it. I must go back and get that picture. But I don't. Next time I go out that way, right?
I also pass an unusual circular house built with vertical, thin boards, unstained and greyed, with a fence to match. Looks good. Looks strong. Looks centered.
When I finally do get to the 'town', there is a large industrial building that looks like a mall at a crossroad of the highway I'm on, and one that goes south. The building is on the Alberta side of the highway. Just like Lloydminster, Sask. is on the other side. No signs on any of the doors, though. One window shows people sitting inside like it's a restaurant, but instead of going in, I go around the corner to the area where a gas bar and variety store is.
After 40 miles of cycling, I have to sit down before I do can anything else, so I sit on a bench just outside the store door to watch people, most of whom are native.
Along comes a handsome man, about my brother's age, who starts to chat, and so I invite him to sit down with me, and he does. His name is Sam, and he works for the water department checking samples. Like most people of any small town, when he was young, he had moved to the big city and is most happy to be back home now.
He explains that a funeral is just over, and that's why so many people are coming over here, to fill up their cars and get supplies. Even in a city, I've never seen a store door open and close so often.
People keep coming and going, and, as they do, they say 'Hi, Sam' and then reach out to shake his hand. The nicest part is that they then reach across him and say hello to me and shake my hand, too. So very friendly. They are truly a beautiful people. Then they chat a bit with Sam in either English or Cree. Whenever he and a friend chat in Cree, I can hear English phrases, and am reminded of the same when I hear French people chatting in northern Ontario, or Lucas speaking Dutch when he calls home to Holland. Patois! I really like it!
Sam and I chat for an hour on that bench. He tells me he tests water in the area. Sam suggests I use the paved highway down to road 797 because I could get lost on the back road to Frenchman's Butte. It will be longer, but probably faster.
Recently, he says, many of the people from here and surrounding areas went on a long walk from here to Lloydminster and on to Saskatoon to bring awareness to the disappearance of many local women. (that's a very long walk - 200 miles?)
After an hour, Sam has to get going, and we say farewell.
Pokahontas: As I was locking up my bike beside the bench an hour ago, I noticed through a big window this woman inside checking 'Scratch and Wins'. She's wearing beaded necklaces and pouches in bright colours, and a beaded name tag around her neck that reads 'Pocahontas'. She seems intriguing and I try not to stare.
After Sam leaves, I go into the store to get Gatorade and, hopefully, yogurt - not too common in prairie variety stores. Note: AB and SK mostly sell the drink called 'Power' instead of Gatorade. Was informed that Power has a very high sugar content.
When I come out of the store, Pocahontas is sitting on the bench now, and starts to talk to me. Wish I had thought to shake her hand. More importantly, wish I had taken a pic of her, with permission, of course.
As we chat, I am now standing, and that is my most uncomfortable position. Walking, cycling - fine. Just standing causes discomfort.
She says she had been to Lloydminster (also a border town 80 miles to the south). She had hitch-hiked down. 'I hitch-hike everywhere' she said.
I ask her if she is not worried about doing that, and she says 'No, everybody knows me. I always get a ride. I go and volunteer at lots a places. I like to help my people out.'
She means the different reservations, of course, and native people who are living in a city like Lloyd. It's usually called Lloyd on the prairies. Even my Mom called it that, and I often did, too, at work with western customers.
Well, when I get back on my bike, I decide to use the highway instead of the back gravel road from Onion Lake to Frenchman's Butte, as Sam suggested. The gravel road cuts across diagonally making it a shortcut but Sam had warned me that it is a bad road, and I could easily get lost. It would be more dangerous, too, I realize now, being so secluded.
My odometer has been reading in miles instead of km. which I like because I always get there sooner that way. heehee
I check my odometer a short ways down the highway from Onion Lake, and there is NOTHING on it. All the info' had been wiped clean. I'm shocked. Luckily, I remember the exact mileage when I first came into the village, 405 miles so far, so I know from now on I have to add 405 to the mileage showing. Even the clock is cleared. The magic of Pocahontas? Or a glitch? 405 miles + the new reading times 1.6 = kilometers ridden thus far. Good way to keep the mind active and avoid boredom.
About 20 miles down the road, a huge rotweiler comes on the attack through a board fence and up the slope at me. I stop immediately, jump off, and grab the bearspray. The dog runs back down the slope as soon as I stand to face it, and barks from down there. Has to have the last word, you know. I walk the bike passed their driveway, and he stops barking.
At #797, I turn east onto a dirt road. I ride in the middle of the road but when traffic comes by, I go to the 'wrong' side of the road because it's so dusty. This way, with the north wind blowing so hard, most of the dirt blows to the south side. Still, you could now nickname me Dusty.
In a little clearing, I stop to eat canned food from Onion Lake variety. I had chosen a can with a flip top because I sent my heavy can opener home with the other stuff when in Smoky Lake. The part I don't eat, I dump into the long grasses for the bears, pack the empty can, and I'm off again.
A deer starts across the road so I stop. It watches me for a good 4 minutes before it finally goes forward, runs and jumps the fence, and then, from the middle of the field, it runs parallel to me for a distance. Quite fun!
Just after that, a big old 60's car comes past me and the driver slows down, hangs his head out the driver's window, yells something and waves big time. He has the biggest smile immaginable but I suddenly feel very insecure, and watch to see if he is going to turn around further up the road. He is the blackest looking native man I've ever seen. I really do not trust what he might do because he could be drinking so I look for a hiding place but everywhere is fenced.
I'm 16 km. east of the Onion Lake/Lloydminster highway on 797 - 'The Old Fort Pitt Trail' actually. In front of me is a huge hill, and my knees say 'unh unh, Karen, no way' and my brain says 'unh unh Karen, not safe to continue on with that strange fellow on the loose' and so I ride back to a farm I've just gone by whose sign reads, 'Crooked Creek Ranch, Claus and Jean Young.'
I knock and ask Claus if I can pitch my tent out back by the barns, and he shows me a spot. He says his wife is at the lake. His name sounds so familiar that I am sure she was one of my friendly customers at Sears. It's windy and another storm hits as I climb into the tent. Only 3 days that had NO rain, so far.
Note: It is now Nov. 30/08. I receive a call at work from a customer who's auntie knows Pocahontas. She, Anita Kahsokeo, tells me that Ponahontas is Dorothy Thunderchild. Ms. Thunderchild is actually from the Thunderchild reserve. She is well known for her good works. How lucky am I to have met her.
Comment from a woman I met on the Sears' phones: Anonymous said...
Hi Karen. I enjoyed talking to you tonight and then reading all about your trip. We also know Claus Young very well. I am impressed that you travelled this alone. I would never have done that . You are very brave.Good luck in future endeavers
November 26, 2008 9:59 PM
When you're not cycling, your home is your castle.
