A dog runs along beside me for maybe a 1000 ft. until I stop to take a picture in the mist.
A few miles east of Smoky Lake, Darlene McCrae's 's old homestead in the morning mist.
A young woman comes along from behind us to claim her dog, chats for a bit.
I continue for miles and miles until past noon when I come upon a dirt sideroad that I ride down a short ways, stop and put down my blankey on the grass, eat, drink, and fall asleep.
Later, a riding-stable horse gallops along beside me for the length of its field, on the otherside of the fence. That's warms my spirit.
"Between Bellis n Vilna where I am now having a soup. Checked the trail here but it's still unnavigable for a bike. According to a few locals, the quads (what they call 4-wheelers here) cause this problem. They spin and stir up the soil so that it's 4" of rocks and dirt too soft and deep. luv"
Old Railway Trestle
Went into a nice restaurant for supper just as the chef had to leave on an emergency. He had the waitress tell me that if I waited, he would make me the special when he got back in half an hour, for free. Some soup was ready, so I took that. He probably thought I wouldn't wait, but I felt that I needed the protein and iron from a hot beef sandwich and was too tired, anyway, to go on so I did wait. I insisted on paying for the dinner but allowed the soup to be free.
The young (to me) couple across the street, offered to let me pitch my tent in their back yard if I wanted when I stopped to pat their little Shitsu dog. I thanked them but when they told me about Bonnie Lake, I knew I wanted to go there instead.
People are so friendly and kind in northern Alberta.
Took the back road over to the Bonnie Lake road, and a man in a pickup stopped to chat. He said to tell the folks there in Bonnie Lake that Big Mike says they should not charge me for the night. He must have said that tongue-in-cheek as no one was at Bonnie Lake. He owns a buffalo herd close by. I should add here that there are pay boxes that are on the honour system and you put your money or cheque in an envelope along with the information they ask for - car licence #, etc. So I take him at his word, and don't pay there, either. One night in a farmer's lane, 3 nights for free at Smokey Lake with thanks to the finest man I've met, Milt McRae, and 2 nights here. Bonus Big Time!'
It's still hot and sunny when I arrive at Bonnie Lake so I do a walkabout. However, shortly afterward, it clouds over. When the clouds cover the sun here in northern Alberta, the temperature drops abruptly, and storms can come on fast. Went into the tent at 7:30 because of another rain storm, and fell asleep toasty warm for a change. I wake at 3:30 at the crack of dawn, and answer Josie's text message while only 1/2 awake. Luckily, I drift back to sleep within the hour.
Text Message: "The coyotes are calling from nearby. I always bring the bike light into the tent at night so am using it now. It goes down 2 close to zero at night in Alberta but it never gets real dark at this time of year making viewing the stars difficult. My mouth is still sore and swollen. It must have been a spider bite. bye4now"
Bonnie Lake's island, early morning.
July 16th: 'Definitely too grueling at times. Today I'm in a nice park 36 miles from Smoky Lake beside Bonnie Lake. by4now luv'
Bonnie was the name of the only dog I had as a child, a friendly Boston Terrier. Can't swim here because of a warning for red itch. The red itch actually comes from parasites from the ducks, of which there are several out on the lake. I remember years ago, our teen employee, Serge Pilon, getting it from Smith Bay in the last days of summer in front of our cottages. They burrow up under the first and/or second layer of skin and you scratch for a week. The doctor told him that if he had towel dried, most of them would have been brushed off. It usually happens after a long hot spell, and it certainly hasn't been hot very much since I arrived in Alberta - mostly rainy and cool. I probably could chance it so maybe before I leave.
I've chosen a very shaded secluded spot so everything is wet with the heavy condensation and the rain from the night before.
"Rain. Another family sets up camp at 7:30 pm so I feel safer. Rain again and some thunder. I was ready but it's only after 7:30 with me in my little tent with nothing to do but sleep. I may stay over l more night. Well, nt nt"
Always cold at night this far north. The tent tarp gets soaked at night and so now I sleep in a damp world. Last night, I wore to bed a blouse, a tee, a fleece jacket, and a hooded rain jacket. Too much. I put the bottom half of the sleeping bag into a clear plastic bag, and kept warmer than the night before but the plastic bag got condensation on the inside of it, too, presumably from my body. I cover my legs with the little fleece blanket before I zip up the sleeping bag.
I lost one of my two small pieces of foamie that I brought for a pillow by using them to pad the bicycle seat yesterday. Must have fallen off on the road at one of my many rest stops. Now I have to use my special camper's bath towel that Josie gave me to make the pillow thick enough to avoid neck pain and headache so can't use it before bedtime to dry myself.
July 17th: I decide to catch up on my journal notes at the picnic table as it's now sunny and warm. The circle of trees around my campsite protects me from any wind, though it's low, and so I spread out all my wet gear on the next campsite where there's a wide sunny area so as to dry everything while I write. I'll leave later in the day instead of early.
I make tea on my little sterno stove and eat an energy mix for breakfast.
A landskeeper, probably the superintendent of the park, comes by with a whippersnipper and stops in. He reiterates all that about the trail being no good for cyclists.
Behind my site is a lovely wooded walking trail so I walk that first. It's short so I'm not gone long.
Text message: 'The phone is dead and, as Luck Would Have It, there is an electric hookup right at the campsite. Bonus! Quiet here - have heard no wolves and few birds. Am drying tent etc. now. No one else here in the campground.'
Hail! How rugged can cycling be anyway?
My Campsite Before the Hail:
After:
As I'm writing in the journal, I hear thunder beyond the trees, look up, and there's a storm almost upon me. I grab everything and throw it into the tent. Some small things I throw into a plastic grocery bag, run for the phone which is hooked into the post socket, and jump inside just as it starts to hail.
Within seconds, it's hailing so thick and hard that the tarp is pushed down and the hail is pummelling me on the head and I lie down. A few minutes, there's a terrential downpour of rain, and because the tent is in a bit of a decline, I can feel the water under the tent like a puffy jacket or a water balloon. Up I get and pat it. Full of water and near the lip of where the floor meets the mesh of the tent just 3 or 4 inches above the floor line. This is dreadful. All my stuff is in this tiny tent, There's wild flashes of lightning, I'm in the trees, and the thunder is deafening. When it eases up 20 minutes later, it does so very abruptly, as usual. The ground is white with ice pellets. The tent is soaked and so are my clothes and bike.
I'm in a state of shock, and start to wander around the campground. That's when I discover a roofed picnic shelter, as you see in this picture, and go back to drag all my stuff over here. I hang the tent, tarp, sleeping bag, and other items in the open window frames to dry out - again - bring in my bike and lock it, and sit at the picnic table, light the sterno, and make soup and do Sudoku puzzles that Peter gave me back at work last month.
That's when an elderly couple peek their heads in, along with their grandson, Abbey. They have brought dry wood with them, and they build a roaring fire in the cast-iron fireplace. I wouldn't have thought of doing that! As we chat, Abbey gathers hail in his sand pails, turns the pails upsidedown, and makes hail castles. Castles in Smoky Lake, and now castles in Bonnie Lake.
"Hail Castles from sand pails by Abbey Marshall Sloss"
Suddenly, Abbey discovers that if he throws the hail on the fireplace, the pellets pop and sizzle wildly and noisily, bouncing off the fireplace onto the cement floor like popcorn without a lid, and he has such fun, until Grandma says stop. She has their hotdogs ready for lunch. They've come here to scout for a nice campground for their trailer for the summer.
Mrs.(Grandma) Sloss and Abbey
It showers all day so I am stuck here. I write two letters, one to my recently widowed Uncle Tom who is so worried about me doing this trip. While I was in Red Deer visiting him, I called my daughter on his phone about soon starting out, and he called out loudly "She's not going!" (Aquarius: stubborn)
I pass hours as best I can. I've decided to set the tent up just outside this shelter, though the ground is sloped and may be hard to find a good spot. The fire has gone out, and the weather is cool, but no wind, thank goodness. The loons are calling from the lake, and I wander down just as the sun peeks out for one last look at us locos before dipping beneath the horizon. Now a pack of nearby coyotes take up the chorus where the loons have left off and I head back to the tent on the slope, hoping I can sleep.
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