The canola is in bloom right now, and millions of acres of gold flow past me as I cycle east. Something like the fields of mustard we have back home except that the fields are in miles rather than acres. Truly beautiful. Lots of woodlands as well.
I keep a large hankie under the velcro lip of my camera, which is in a camera bag on my waist belt along with the bearspray. It's greener than kleenex, of course, and doesn't give me the garbage collection problem.
Up and down hills too steep to ride with such a heavily loaded bike early in the day, but towards evening the roads level out.
Am sitting near a roadside fruit vendor; bought bing cherries and am resting by highway #28 eating. The vendor says they are the best energy food, and they surely do taste like they are. Now I can turn onto a real highway and have smooth riding for a while, into Redwater. The map showed that the TCT follows a dirt road to a 'T' where you turn right (long before this) but it didn't happen. So now I have gone miles too far west of where I should be.
The way I start to look at it, I am where I should be, all the time, no matter where I am. This way I stay happy with what is happening and where I am.
In Redwater, I tour the village, and then go to a restaurant beside the town's campground, but it is only 4 pm, too early to camp for me. And it seems too bleak in this campground, right beside the highway with no trees.
Two older men in the restaurant chat with me, and ask me to put a note in the Edmonton Journal when I finish so they will know that I make it safely. One says the TCT on the Iron Horse is very rough. The other says that the trail follows the river, he thinks, and I am now far from the river. I guess I should have kept turning right at all the intersections but I was reading the map incorrectly.
I follow the paved road to an intersection where I could turn left and follow pavement but opt for the dirt one straight ahead as that is where the map shows the Redwater Park to be. The park, apparently, is only a preserve/conservation park, so no campground there. Culture shock. The prairies camp grounds are in the towns.
It's a very rough dirt road, and little traffic but I cycle for miles anyway.
I pass a farm and see pigs. One big dark one spots me and comes charging up like a dog would do, snorting instead of barking. I stop and take a picture just in time as it turns and runs back to the others at the barn.
It's the early evening, and the thunderstorm you see beyond the pig farm above sideswipes me a little further on, and I huddle up against the side of a deep ditch until it passes. Thunder and lightning hit. There are aspens up on the rim but don't shelter me in any way. I'm not fully prepared for storms yet. In the rain, I get the blue tarp and realize it's too small but use it to cover the sleeping bag as I grab and unpack the tent tarp which turns out not to be waterproof. Where it touches my clothes and head, the water comes through. At least, huddling beneath it, I can't see the lightning. I'm leaning against the side of the ditch and the rain is pouring down my back and my feet are in water now, and the wind is trying to tear all my stuff away. The lightning and the crashing of thunder are monstrous, but I am left alive, and very wet after 20 minutes of cold torrential rain.
At 9 pm I realize that I am going to have to camp in a field somewhere close by as I'm so exhausted and nowhere near a town or campground. Storm clouds are once again in the west, and I know I'm in for it. The dirt road ends now, and I have to turn left (north) onto another dirt road. I see a farm lane, and set up the tent on it, near the road, in long wet grasses. It's my first night in the tent.
Before I go in, I put Vics Vapour Rub (which I spotted in a Fort SK variety store where/when a lightbulb went off on in my head saying that this might keep the animals out of my panniers) and paint the edges of the tent's tarp and all the panniers with the Vics.
As cars (pickups mostly) go past, and there are few of them, they seem to slow down - I guess because they are wondering whether or not to call their friend, Farmer Whatshisname, about this intruder.
The storm hits just as I stretch out in the sleeping bag, and then my legs start to shake. Not just shake but jerk uncontrollably. The tent is wet from the other storm that hit me, the sleeping bag is damp and so are my clothes and the sleeping mat beneath me. I am freezing, and my legs jerk for at least 2 hours.
Coyotes sing to the west of me, nearby, and then to the south beside me, and then just across the road before they stop. I wonder if they have grabbed any of my stuff, but morning shows they have not.
A car stops beside me for a minute, the Longest Minute, around midnight, then goes to the crossroad about 1000 feet further on and stops, turns left it seems, stops, comes back to the crossroad, stops, and then goes across it, and keeps on, slowly. This is so worrisome, and I am so cold that I feel sick.
I have my bearspray with me in the tent, and my detachable bike flashlight. Finally, I drift off. I waken two hours later to go outside to the bathroom which is cold, wet and frightening, and can't get back to sleep. However, the worst of the shaking is over.
Dawn comes around 3:30 am at this time of year in the prairies. The coyotes come back, happy and singing because they are probably well fed by this time.
When I finally get up and go out, I see no bears have destroyed my equipment.
Packing is very hard to do as everything is wet and it's cold and the light is dusky.
My legs hurt so much for the first few miles I wonder if I can go on. A few miles on, I see something strange ahead so I stop and get out my binoculars. It's two deer walking straight along the dirt road toward me. On the prairies, distances can fool you because I thought they were close but I watch and watch for 5 minutes and they're still way down the road. Then they jump the fence and head toward the woods.
Nice rest, though, and I take out an energy bar for breakfast, and drink Gatorade.
I can hear a highway! Civilization!
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