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Splendiferous Islands Tour: A British Columbian "Cycle-Logical" Saga
By Rick Millikan

Launching from Vancouver area driveways, Doug, Fred and I began a British Columbian Odyssey. Once surveyor, regional manager and teacher, we became British Columbian explorers of two island gems finding super natural splendor, robust exercise, and fitting cycle-logical challenges.

Following a sunny cycle through Delta farmlands to Tsawwassen ferry, we cruised Georgia Strait to Swartz Bay transferring onto a small ferry to proceed to nearby Salt Spring Island. There, after grinding upward from Fulford Harbour, we roller-coastered amidst forests, sheep farms and lakes into Ruckle Farm’s orchards following its forest path to meadow campsites.

Cliff-side vistas offered chugging, tooting sea craft off North Pender Island. Yet the tent community focused on a splotchy black and white mutt. “Spot” chased, leapt and acrobatically snatched an orange glow frisbee mid-air then returned it to his proud master. When re-hydrated gourmet pasta failed to revitalize our dog-tired bones, we crawled off to sleep whimpering “Good Night!”

Snacking, packing, and racking at dawn, we pedaled a back road into Ganges. Art lovers adore this hip waterfront town. Yet we followed our noses to Em’s Bakery. I bought a mouthwatering Bear Claw. Munching, I crunched. Prospecting my pastry, Doug confirmed my discovery of gold. Fred observed, “That nugget looks like a tooth.” The truth hit like a cream pie covering the face of innocence.

Leading with a toothless grin, I turned left rather than right, which was wrong creating a disoriented ramble. When Fred stopped to duct-tape his fender stays, a Salt Springer redirected us toward Vesuvius Ferry.

Crossing choppy Stuart Channel back to Vancouver Island, we rolled into Crofton. Now a typical lumber mill community, timeworn buildings reflected an earlier prosperity based on nearby mining. Meandering through its quiet neighbourhoods, Fred’s tire split. He reinforced the tire with duct-tape.

Our arrival in Chemainus bolstered spirits. Ambling along its unique outdoor gallery, we viewed noted artists thirty-three amazing murals depicting Chemainus Valley native life, pioneers and early immigration. We lingered, lapping up fast melting ice cream cones.

We proceeded on the country road into Ladysmith and onto Island Highway. An hour later we escaped the busy highway onto Nanaimo’s bicycle route. There we found a R.V. campground with luxuriant grass. During that starry clear evening, tents mushroomed. Incredibly it began raining at 2 A.M.! Our groggy minds determined this was a man-made, thus a stoppable downpour. Flattening pop-up sprinkler heads with rocks, the storm was stoppered!

Island Highway’s ample shoulders and sunny morning panoramas presented a super-cycle to Combs! Two landmarks distinguish this village: historic Combs General Store and Old Country Market. Lunching in the community park, we watched goats grazing atop the Market’s sod roof.

Upon departure, a rose thorn pierced Doug’s rugged tire. Patching punctures constitutes an inconvenience, hardly a problem. Yet a brake mechanism broke when removing his mountain bike wheel. Our tape "techy" took on the challenge. Refashioning a bottle cap Fred bound it with duct tape replacing the plastic spring retainer.

Rolling along farmland, forest and Cameron Lake’s shoreline, we entered Cathedral Grove, whose oldest evergreens sprouted in 1200 AD. Pushing the last 16km/10m, we arrived that evening at a Port Alberni dockside motel.

Rising at dawn for Lady Rose’s early departure, we trundled our bikes up the ramp. This packet freighter, which delivered mail and cargo to isolated villages and logging camps, provided us a scenic passage to Long Beach. Glaciers carved Alberni Inlet, a long waterway bordered by steep sloped mountains. Its tenacious cedars, hemlocks and fir either flourished or fell victim to clear-cut loggers. Lady Rose typically dropped off her sports fishermen and ocean kayakers at resorts via the final stop, Ucluelet.

While Fred and I explored Pacific Rim National Park’s Long Beach, Doug booked a Ucluelet motel. Being over-packed and under the weather, he mailed 40 pounds of gear homeward then soundly slept.

After checking out the posh Wikaninish Inn then pedaled to less refined beachside accommodation. At Green Point Beach the ranger cautioned us, “Cyclists can camp on the beach with backpackers. Unless you’d like black bears joining you tonight, put your edibles in the caged area,” I wanted to ask if they played Poker, but simply listened to this good advice. Unloaded, we zipped bikes along the hard packed beach pausing to admire surf-sculpted sandstone cliffs, caves and coves. Tents nestled among logs, the throbbing surf lulled us to sleep.

At dawn we waited to meet Doug at a crossroad. A passerby warned us about the highway, “...If 18 wheelers don’t get you, bears will..” After Doug joined us, we
rocketed upward into the mountains. Maintaining an energetic lead, I glanced back seeing no one following. Waiting at the crest, I flagged down a motorist asking about my buddies. The driver gushed, “Your friends are making a movie!” Was our saga being filmed without me?

Flustered, I pushed on. Stretching at a park, I noted a camper arriving. Asking about my bike buddies, the driver asked, “Like to see them?” His videotape showed them repairing a flat. A big lab wagged his tail innocently in the background as Doug explained. “A black bear startled me, I swerved off the pavement into the bushes puncturing my knobby!”

Stunned, I waited. Feeling rain drops I donned my Gore-Tex jacket, pants and spats crooning, “Just waiting in the rain” and soon after “Just riding in the rain...” What a glorious feeling to be pedaling that mountain road! Wind at my back, I sailed by rippling evergreens along the roaring Kennedy River.

Eventually finding shelter among a cluster of businesses, I awaited my buddies. Arriving equally soaked, we slurped hot soup and planned the next soggy leg of our journey to a Port Alberni motel with Jacuzzi.

Re-energized the next day wearing shorts and sunglasses, Doug, Fred and I spun up Port Alberni’s “Mountain Mama”. Retracing the strip of highway to Nanaimo’s Vancouver-bound ferry, we soon arrived home. Culminating the 300-mile tour, I shared remaining trail mix and digital pix with an awesome family.

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