The Continuing (Mis)adventures of a Knucklehead, The Second Chapter
Previously, David Williams and his mysterious riding partner, Fx, embarked on a four-day ride, but owing to poor planning and being easily distracted, the pair find themselves nowhere near their destination of Lund, British Columbia, so technically, the story hasn’t even started yet
With little left of the day and us being in Port Hardy (which is only a few hundred kilometres and a ferry ride away from where we were supposed to be), Fx and I burned it south.
We were still rational enough to realize that evening was not the best time of day to burn it anywhere, what with all the signs promising caribou crossings for the next 65 km, so Fx broke out her trusty camping book.
We arrived at a spectacular setting on the shore of the lake and snagged the best spot, right at the end of the road. We had our own beach and no one near to bother us. Many kilometres long and at least a couple across, the lake and setting were deep-sigh beautiful, and I think this was the best of all the camping spots I’d experience on this trip to Vancouver Island.
Time for a Bath
It was about this point each evening that we would have a little debate about hygiene. Fx is a staunch advocate of actually bathing each day. I, on the other hand, believe in all things in moderation, especially hygiene while camping. The previous night, while Fx donned her bathing costume to refresh herself in McCreight Lake, I stayed back to guard the camp at great personal risk due to wildlife, and because the water was freaking cold. Tonight, after the verbal abuse I had taken the evening before, I was determined to brave the lovely looking waters of Nimpkish. I too donned my bathing costume and set out, all hearty-like, for the shore in my riding boots. (Try not to picture this in your mind, as it will only cause you discomfort.) At any rate, let’s just say the water was quite refreshing. And as Fx splashed and swam and laughed like a madwoman, I made it all the way out from shore to my . . . crotchal area. One moment there was long enough to convince me that people who swim in lakes such as these must be women or eunuchs, and I ran for shore, screaming like a little girl. But my legs were clean. And a bluish colour. The next morning, day four of the four-day trip, we finally made the push down the coast of the Island to Comox and the ferry to Powell River, mere spitting distance to Lund and our original destination of Mile Zero! Nailed it! Except for the rain. The day we arrived in Lund, the entire purpose of this trip and when I was to begin taking photos, it rained. In fact, it had rained for the trip to Lund, as well, so we had arrived wet. But, there was the Mile Zero marker!
The Start of a Beautiful Journey
Built in 2009 from locally sourced stone by Al McKenzie, a self-taught local stoneworker, and clad around the base with hand-painted commemorative tiles, the monument comes complete with a time capsule inside, should the tower ever be disassembled. Now, I have to be honest, whoever determined that this road is the same road as the one that ends in Chile 15,202 km away is a mystery to me. But to stand there, and think that you could just hop on your bike with a credit card and end up in Chile in a month or so just by sticking to this road is a bit of a rider’s dream. In fact, the tower has become a bit of a magnet for touring motorcyclists since being built. As proof, when I arrived, there was a bike parked inside the fencing that surrounds the monument.
A passing stranger asked me whether that was my bike, once he identified that my hi-viz riding gear wasn’t actually a Power Ranger suit. “Not mine,” I replied. “Hunh,” said he. “It’s been there for about four days and nobody knows who it belongs to.” Then he wandered off. This had me thinking two things: One, someone should maybe look into where the missing rider is, but not me. Two, they don’t get really excited about parking illegally by the monument in Lund. So, I took pictures of the monument. We rode our bikes right out onto the edge of the pier and parked them to take more pictures, and rescued a couple of Americans whose rather large boat was trapped by another rather large boat, but nobody knew who the offending boat belonged to either, so we just untied it, let the Americans out, and then tried to re-tie the offending boat while the Americans motored happily away.
I hope the boat was still there when the owner returned. I am not a sailor. Having soaked up all we could of Lund, and facing the fact that we weren’t going to make it home that night, we searched out another charming campsite in the rain. I participated in more tarping extravagance, and Fx chose to bathe again. I was already wet enough. Do You Need Eagle Pictures? The next day dawned, and now a day past our allotted total trip time, it was obvious this ride was not working to plan, but what the heck? On down to Powell River and sun! This struck me as a photo op, and I acted accordingly. There was a nice stretch of the highway right along the beach, and I had the idea to have Fx ride back and forth while I attempted an artsy image of her blurred bike with the beach and water in focus in the background. I set up my tripod and camera on the side of the road away from the beach and lined up my shot. She started riding by, back and forth, as I’d told her I’d signal when I had enough shots. I’m not sure she’ll do that again. Just then, a black Ford F-150 pulled onto the shoulder close to where I was set up. It was Santa.
Apparently, he hangs around that area in the off-season and drives his pickup while wearing plaid shirts and suspenders. As he approached, I tried not to make it obvious that I was in the presence of a celebrity. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked with a cheery grin. I explained that I was working on a story for a motorcycle magazine and was taking some photos of a friend I had riding back and forth for the story. “Hunh,” said Santa, and proceeded to chat about the town, the scenery and life in general as Fx continued to ride back and forth. Finally he said, “Do you need some pictures of eagles? You can get some great pictures of eagles.” And he proceeded to tell me where I could get some really great pictures of eagles. I thanked him, and explained that I’d better get back to work. Fx was looking dehydrated, even through her full-face helmet. I lined up my shot as Santa drove off, and – “Whatcha doin’?” I turned to find a fellow, at least in his 90s, complete with cane, plaid shirt and suspenders, but much slimmer than Santa. I went through my explanation again, trying to convey a sense of urgency as Fx rode by again, glaring at me through her visor. “Hunh,” said the old-timer. “You know, you can get some great pictures of eagles right near here. Do you need any pictures of eagles?” and on he went. He finally wrapped it up by saying, “You know, if you need some pictures of eagles, I’ve got lots. I could send you some. I’ll tell you what, just give me your business card, and I’ll send you some pictures of eagles.” Fx had to stop for gas. Friendly Locals Now, when you’re on what’s called the “Sunshine Coast,” which is where Lund and Powell River are, you’re on the mainland, but to get to the Lower Mainland, as in North Vancouver, where Williams HQ is, you actually have to take a couple of short ferry hops, because no one thought to build a bridge or a chunnel or something, and they already have a lot of ferries out there.
Thus, we arrived at Saltery Bay for the first hop. But as we pulled up at the office with the mechanical arm that rises to let you into the loading area, we discovered that the office didn’t open for another hour. Fortunately, like pretty much everywhere else north of Vancouver, there were some cheerful and relaxed employees inside who came out in the heat to talk to us, told us to just leave the bikes right there at the gate (blocking the entrance) and to just take a stroll up the road a piece to the café and have some lunch. “Don’t worry about the bikes. We’ll keep an eye on them.” And they did. While dining at a picnic table, an affable young man whom we’d never seen before decided to join us for lunch and tell us about all the hunting and fishing in the area, his work, his car, the guys he worked with, etc. Travelling around B.C., outside the large urban areas, is utterly charming. And you can camp for free! After ferry number one, it was on to the town of Gibsons, home of The Beachcombers television series, and another short ferry ride back to Horseshoe Bay, then a quick ride back to North Vancouver.
As I was putting the story together in my head after our five-day adventure, I began to realize that this story isn’t really about Mile Zero. It’s about what happens when you’re out there on the road and the people you meet and the places you find. “I should really write about that,” I thought, “and not tell Editor Roberts, because he’ll kill me when he sees how long this is, and that I didn’t even really write about what I was supposed to.” I didn’t really get enough photos of the first part of the trip, so I should really go back to the Island and do the trip again by myself and get more photos. So I did. But I can’t tell you about that because it will take several more pages and I’d have to tell you about how I went to Victoria and rode up the west side to Port Renfrew, and how that Cowichan Lake road is a real corker (because I decided to ride across the island this time, too), and about saving the grandmother, and my bike blowing over from the extreme wind in Port Hardy, breaking my front brake lever and having to fix my luggage by beating it with my dad’s hatchet and how there’s another Mile Zero in Port Hardy, but it’s for a different road, and about Lasqueti Island, where the American draft dodgers used to hide and now they don’t like visitors and it’s completely off the grid, and there’s a house made of pop bottles and some people just live in tents year-round and . . . Well, maybe I’ll tell you about that another time.
