In Which Rivers are Crossed

Assume this posted yesterday, the 21st (didn't have a connection at Ft. Nelson).

We finished early today, rolling into our stop early in the afternoon. It was beautiful this morning in Dawson's Creek, cool but sunny. The town is actually mile 0 of the Alaskan Highway, which we'll ride all the way to Fairbanks. We climbed out of town into the wooded ridges of BC. The Rockies made an appearance again, pulling into view like an old friend. The peaks weren't as high as the ones we'd seen back in the States, the snowy crags were softened by lush forest, the last of the snow; gleaming in the high ridges.

We rode the low foothills of the peaks along avenues cut through the woodland. At times we would dip into valleys cut by huge rivers. We crossed the Peace River early in the day, sweeping along the curve of the valley, over the long steel bridge, then back up into the hills.

The dichotomy between the old forest and the new growth planted after the loggers had passed through is striking. Like a bad shave, the grassland ends in sudden woods a hundred feet high.

A few hours into our ride the sky clouded up again. We spent the rest of the day running in and out of the rain.

My weak American rain gear is insufficient against the might of Canadian socialised weather. I feel like I'm beating a dead horse about my boots, the rain, et al. So from now on understand that if I mention rain then, I probably got wet on the road. Not that it makes a huge difference, I've got electric pants.

We're staying at the Woodlands Inn & Suites, which seems a little schizophrenic, but really nice. The halls are all painted cinderblock, I can only assume it's to keep everything from getting mildew in the winter. The rooms are all very nice, and the restaurant is very posh!