Vancouver and Whistler

Wolves are howling on the hill, across the other side of the lake, making noises I never knew a pack of wolves could make; yodeling, yelping and ululating all at the same time. I think they are getting closer. The birds are having a good sing song, sharing their morning gossip. The clouds rushing past the top of the canyon are seared salmon pink with the first light of dawn. The valley floor is still in shade, but it’s warm enough for just shorts and a tee. A breeze is starting to ruffle the surface of the water, and shooing away the mosquitoes in camp. When the wind dies off, I can hear the sound of the waterfall we scrambled across to as the sun went down last night. It’s 5am and I’m sat with a hot cup of fresh, dark coffee and a couple of Aunt Jemima’s pancakes, enjoying the start of what is going to be another scorcher of a day.

I’m up early having been woken by something crawling over my leg in the van – most likely a massive spider. The day beginning outside was too tempting to ignore, so I’m up and about. It’s been too long since I last got up with the sun. It’s also the first time in nearly a week that I’ve had to sit down and catch up.

We’ve traveled down from the Sunshine Coast, through Vancouver and Whistler, and we’re now on our way up to Jasper. Arriving in Vancouver was strange. We’d been planning to visit for a long time, throwing around ideas of maybe moving here in the future. But as soon as we found ourselves surrounded by the buildings, streets and hundreds of people, we both felt unsettled. Mainly the fact that we’d been out in the country for a couple of weeks, just the two of us, and being suddenly thrust into a heaving mass of humanity was a shock to the system. We parked up and had a wander around Granville Island, stopping in at a few galleries and studios, had a bite to eat and soaked up the buzz. In the evening we met up with Jim – the guy with the broken down motorbike we met back down in Oregon. He runs a Community Laboratory in Vancouver, where people can join and use the tools and workshop space. He was still working on his bike. A few people were building some micro-houses. Sawdust, grime and shaggy beards. A good “making things” vibe. Over the road was a micro-brewery – Parallel 49 – where we grabbed a couple of beers and a box of poutine from the food truck outside; one of Canada’s national foods I’m told. It’s essentially just chips and gravy with a fancy name, but tasty!

We camped by the side of the road half an hour out of town as the campsite was shut by the time we got there at nearly midnight. Friday morning brought rain, we spent the day in town. A couple of hours in the library in the afternoon gave me some time to catch up with a bit of work, and then in the evening we smartened up (a little) and headed off to the circus! Driving out of town the night before we’d seen that Cirque du Soleil was in town – something we’d always wanted to see – so we booked tickets. It was impressive. The usual acrobatics, trapeze work and strong-man feats, with amazing costumes and live music. One act involved a huge, upside down, transparent cone – like a big funnel – with a man stood inside throwing glowing balls around the inner walls. It was dark, so all you could see was the man surrounded by smoke and whirling globes. Too late to find a campsite and in need of a freshen up, we hunted down a motel for the night.

On Saturday we met Will – a buddy of mine from Uni I hadn’t seen in perhaps ten years. We had breakfast and then spent the day hanging out and catching up. Knowing someone in a town, rather than being a complete stranger, makes a huge difference. Maybe also because we’d been in town for a couple of days by then, I felt a bit more comfortable with the place. But we both decided that we don’t want to live in a city again for a while.

In the evening sun we drove up the 99 – the “sea to sky highway” – through Squamish and into Whistler. The original plan was to stop for the night in Squamish. I’d heard about it being “the adventure centre of British Columbia”, there was a kite surf beach, climbing and biking all within the same place. But even on a Saturday night, it felt dead as we arrived around 7pm. We had a quick drive around, and decided that heading on up to Whistler was the best plan. After drinks and dinner in town we found a pull-out on a mountain road a few Kms south for the night.

Sunday morning; breakfast in Whistler and then on to Ali’s place. Whistler is one of the world great mountain biking destinations – a purpose-built ski resort in winter, and a mountain bike mecca in summer. The surrounding mountains are covered with hundreds of awesome trails, and the slopes north of the town form the Whistler Bike Park. The chair lifts are converted to take bikes, and the town is packed with downhill warriors in full face helmets and body armour. Rose, Ali and I started the day’s riding with a loop around the Lost Lake trails, then leaving Rose at the house we joined up with a few other guys to ride a couple of trails called “Business Time” and “AM PM”. Steep climbing and steep, fast, technical descents through twisty woods, over rock drops and slatted wooden bridges. So good to be out on these trails with strong riders to follow. A gang came around to Ali’s for the evening where I cooked up a massive carbonara to fuel us up for the next day’s ride.

Back on the hill on Monday. We started with a long, tough climb all the way up the side of the valley, perhaps a couple of hours. Hot and humid. Amazing view from the top. But squadrons of mosquitoes were out and in fighting mode so we gobbled down our snacks, hopped on the bikes and dropped into the trees, onto a trail called “Howler”. In 20 minutes we were back amongst the houses on the valley floor. Spent the afternoon hanging out at Lost Lake, and then another evening relaxing at the house. The Kiwi gang were busy making plans for the next stage of their endless summer; chasing the seasons around the world, riding bikes and working where possible. Most people are here purely to ride bikes; mostly in their early twenties, single, living in shared houses, “doing a season”. All talk is about bikes and travel. One of the guys, Nick, was planning to head to Europe in August to get back into work and career for a while, and was having to make some tricky decisions about whether to follow his mates to New Zealand and ride the southern summer or step back from the party and drop into a 9-to-5 job. Was interesting to have a chat with him, about how it can be possible to work full time in a city whilst also fitting in enough play, and whether just playing out at the weekends could compare to immersing yourself fully into a scene for a whole season.

On Tuesday folks were either back at work in bike shops or workshops, or having a rest, so I headed up to the bike park on my own with a 3-lift sampler pass. Couldn’t go through Whistler without riding the park. As I was by myself I didn’t really push it, but had a blast down some famous lines; Freight Train, No Joke, A-Line. My riding has improved in just three days here; I can easily see how spending a season in this place can take you to another level completely.

 

We left Whistler at lunch and drove north into the hot, hot, hot valleys around Lilooet. I wasn’t expecting it to be so dry. I was thinking it was just going to be more of the same pine trees and forests that we’ve seen all the way up the coast so far, but it’s dry and arid. A huge river has cut a deep gorge into the limestone cliffs, exposing huge slabs of rock and creating some incredible scenery.

 

Here at Marble Canyon, the morning sun is chasing the shade down the slope on the other side of the valley, and it’s going to charge into camp any minute now. I hear Rose stirring in the van, best get the kettle on.