Most of us paid the $6.50 for unlimited pool use, enjoying a soak both before and after supper. It was drizzling again by the evening but it didn't matter then. In fact, the cold rain made the pool's hot water seem even more luxurious. Everyone went to ground early - Roger's Pass loomed tomorrow and Annette was once again worrying aloud over the trying day it would be. Tonight she wasn't alone in her worries, though. There seemed to be a widespread dread of how difficult The Pass would be. I kept silent about it, thinking that the climb out of Golden would be worse, a day or two farther up the road.

Roger's Pass

Rain plonked on the tent most of the night, but we didn't know the luxury of choosing whether to ride our bikes or sit it out. So off we go, knowing that the first 34 kilometres of today's 118 km total were over a major mountain pass. My long trips with the Edmonton bicycling club, EBTC, really helped me here. Having a fair idea of what today would be like, I knew I could do it. It was the "Golden" day that I was fearing. I based this on the incessant moaning coming from the members of Calgary's Elbow Valley Cycling Club during their annual climb out of Golden as they completed the third day of the famous Golden Triangle ride. We set off, dressed for the rain and mentally prepared to climb. Clouds and mist shrouded us all the way up, denying any view of the spectacular valley we were ascending. The effort of the climb kept us from freezing, but the actual temperature was only +3 or +4 Celsius at the summit. The grade is relatively easy, perhaps 5% or 6%.The final 1.5 km or so gets slightly steeper, perhaps about 8%, but even that is not really terrible. Very similar to cycling over Highwood Pass in Kananaskis Country just east of Banff, Alberta, I thought.

At the crest we all dropped our bikes and hurried inside the hotel's coffee shop to order hot drinks. The gut-warming hot chocolate did the trick, and we lingered over it while drying off. But eventually we had to get rolling again. Crosswinds prevented a true high-speed run down the mountain, but the rain ended almost immediately and the temperature rose inversely with the altitude drop. The tunnels and snow sheds were no problem-we just shot through them going 45-50 kph. Downhills are just too short! All too soon Bob and I were once again on flat ground and cranking hard.

Knowing that my Edmonton cycling club was well into their To the Coast or Bust ride and due along this stretch one of these days, I was staying alert for oncoming riders. When a group of cyclists emerged from a distant rest area and headed toward me, I swung over to the opposing shoulder to study faces. After nearly being run over by the lead rider, whose total concentration was on his handlebar-mounted bicycle-computer, I realized that behind the sun glasses and under the helmets were EBTC people. So I yelled hello. It was great to see Neil, Doug, Sharon, Gloria, Ernie, Rene and others, and have a brief chat. I learned that only yesterday Diana had unfortunately suffered a trip-ending injury and was returning home. Otherwise their trip was going well, having successfully completed the first two segments from Jasper to Golden. (Ernie always plans and executes trips to a high standard.) Momentarily disappointed that I wasn't riding westward with them, I cheered up knowing that I'd barely begun my longer trip eastward.

Bob had a flat tire immediately after we settled on our bikes following lunch-break, which today was beside the road at an abandoned gas station. The flat was just like Albert's, the valve having pulled away from the rubber of the tube. With the tube replaced, many miles later we entered Golden. A bit tired before lunch but now refreshed by it, I powered alone up the short steep hill out of Golden. Gaining the top I entered the Whispering Spruce campsite, perched on a plateau above the town. (On hills this steep I had to ride my own pace and nearly always pulled ahead of Bob.) Whispering Spruce is a very quiet and scenic spot, and our sites were nestled on the hill's brow, overlooking a beautiful green valley.

Right after supper a huge, bright, triple rainbow sparkled overhead. A great emotional boost! Now fed, comfortably warm and dry again under our special rainbow everyone was in a great mood. The Pass was not that big a deal! We'd done it, and with little difficulty. I think it was about here that Annette first said "That wasn't so bad," a phrase we were to hear repeatedly after she had worried needlessly about a day's pitfalls. Annette, obviously, was our official "worrier."

Today we crossed the first of many time-zone lines, entering Mountain and leaving Pacific, realizing our first major milestone.

Big Climbs

July 6 was our 10th day on the road. Since first deciding to make this trip I'd envisioned today's ride as the trip's most difficult day. Now was truth time. We'd conquered one short steep hill out of Golden last night, but I knew a full day of climbing still stood vertically before us. Bob and I again left last. Two kilometres later I realized both my water bottles were empty. Back I went to fill them. Dumb! Bob continued on ahead.

It was about eight degrees and overcast as we started�nice conditions for hard climbing. I caught three cyclists whose day's destination was Yoho National Park campground, and chatted with them as we briefly rode together, collectively admiring a mountain sheep grazing at the road's edge. The initial climb south of the Kicking Horse River bridge was steep, but went quickly. Losing all the hard-gained height, the road then dropped to the bridge at the valley bottom. I caught Bob as we climbed out on the north side. He was struggling in his road gears (I think his lowest was 39 x 27). Determined to avoid using Granny I was in a very similar 38 x 26. My natural climbing rhythm was a bit quicker than Bob could sustain, and being fresh in the early morning I was managing to keep my cadence close to 90 rpm. Slowly I pulled ahead and was on my own.

The ascent was even longer than I'd anticipated or even considered it might be. Several times the road levelled off and I thought I'd reached the top, but yet more hill forced me to continue grinding upwards. Mostly sitting, occasionally standing to rest tired muscle groups, I finally reached the relatively flat valley of the Kicking Horse River. After topping out, I waited about 10 minutes for Bob. No sign of him, so I set off alone.

The ride to Field along this valley was spectacular, despite the low cloud cover hiding some of the magnificent mountain peaks. It never did quite rain. At the Natural Bridge turnoff a major photo session was taking place when I rode up. Just in time, I joined the preceding 10 cyclists as they posed at the highway's edge. Mentioning an easy side-trip to the water-carved rock of the Natural Bridge, three or four kilometres off the highway, most of the group decided to accompany me to it.

Only James and Marny would continue with me farther up the side-road to magnificent Emerald Lake, which was as breathtaking as always. (A picture of this lake used to be on the Canadian ten dollar bill.) Back on the highway, I refueled by downing some sandwiches at the Field Information Bureau while mentally preparing myself for the climb over Kicking Horse Pass. Benefiting from a strong tailwind, the 10-kilometre climb seemed just too easy. James and Marny stopped to sight-see at the Spiral Tunnel viewpoint about halfway up the Pass.

Just beyond the summit I saw the big "WELCOME TO ALBERTA" sign with its proud symbol, the wild rose. (Map of B.C. & Alberta ) Homecoming for Don! The photo buffs were happy to record their first pictures of crossing into a new province. One down and nine to go! Missing the turnoff for the old highway, (the preferred route on Bud's map), before I knew it I was in Lake Louise townsite and searching for the International Hostel.

It had been a tough 102 kilometres of climbing today, but the tailwind had helped and by this time we were all rounding into shape. My worries about a killer day were unfounded. However, I still believe that this is the toughest day, with the most sustained climbing of the entire trip.

Talks with others later in the evening revealed that Paddy's knee is sore, Albert has a pain behind his knee, and Randy continues to suffer from saddle-sores. These, we now learned, had developed in training prior to even starting the trip. He never complained about them, nor even mentioned them, but he continues to endure them daily. He's tough! The remainder I didn't know about. Overall I felt fine, but old scar tissue from a pulled calf muscle suffered in 1979 twinged a few times today, reminding me that I am neither superman nor indestructible. My legs feel drained.

A Blue Day

As luck would have it, tonight's supper was once again our team's responsibility. I was busily peeling carrots and potatoes when the desk clerk gave us the storage-room key for tonight's bike lockup. Following her directions, I walked my bike around the end of the building, cautiously passing a beautiful white Siberian husky, tied to a tree. This guy had two gorgeous blue eyes, but looked at me like I was supper. The dog silently stared at me, and I made sure I kept my bike between us. Visually estimating that I was beyond the length of his restraint rope, I turned my back and started walking. Wrong! Immediately I felt an impact on the back of my knee. Wheeling around, the dog was already four feet away-still silent, and still staring at me. He just bit me, I realized. My sweat-pants showed no sign of the attack and my leg didn't hurt so I calmly went back to scraping veggies.

Half an hour later when it did begin to hurt I looked at it, discovering all four of the dog's canine teeth had punctured my skin. At the insistence of others, Jeff drove me to Banff for professional help. After a tetanus needle and a severe scrubbing of the bitten area, which I had to perform on myself as the nursing staff was busy elsewhere, we returned for a late supper. Later, when a Warden was passing through the hostel, I told him about the incident. He talked to the owner but I believe the dog, "Blue," remained at the hostel. His owner was a permanent resident of the place. The wounds healed perfectly, and they didn't hamper my riding in any degree. I was lucky.

Staying in the hostel did provide a change from tenting. This particular year, though, with the warm, dry weather we were enjoying, staying outside may have been preferable to the hostel's stale air and noise.

Last night, while studying the map in the hostel's beautiful lounge, several people noticed that the Trans-Canada Highway went straight to Banff and that riding it would make for a very short, easy day. However, our route-map steered us down the Bow Valley Parkway, the alternative, older and far more scenic road. Continually plugging away about staying true to the Tour du Canada map, I emphasized that this smaller road was extremely beautiful, almost traffic-free, and one of the truly great cycling rides in the country. Today's weather helped my cause, dawning clear and warm. Just a little bit more persuading over breakfast convinced all but Bob and James to ride the Parkway.

Several people later thanked me for insisting on taking this picturesque route. It was indeed a splendid ride-downhill with a good tailwind and only 61 km for the entire day. About midpoint, for 11 km we rode beside the magnificent, castellated peaks of the appropriately name Castle Mountain. Catching Patti and Marny shortly before rejoining the Trans-Canada just outside Banff, I cautioned them about the forthcoming Texas Gate animal barrier we would cross. Safely over it, I led them through a little-known gate in the elk-barrier fence. We followed a pleasant dirt path through the pine forest before emerging onto pavement. This quiet old roadway, running alongside the shores of the three Vermillion Lakes, took us into Banff.

We reached the hostel by noon. Restlessly we sat around until 1500 hrs when check-in was allowed. Several people decided to kill some time by riding up to the Hot Springs for a dip, but I was basically too lazy. Too hot today, I rationalized.

The dead time provided an excellent opportunity to phone home. Lynn confirmed that she, and perhaps also my daughter Ayrie, would be meeting me in Drumheller two days hence, sharing the rest-day there with me. Great news, as I did miss them. I especially longed for the lost opportunities of sharing each day's experiences with loved ones.

Four bunk beds per room was this co-ed hostel's design. We'd just learned our room assignments, as decided by Jeff — four of the five women in one room and the two married couples in another. Christine was to be with the remaining three men in the third room. As Jeff was announcing this, Christine's parents from Calgary walked up, overhearing the arrangements. Next thing we knew, Christine was staying with her parents in a hotel that night. Later in the trip we kidded Christine about her parents "sheltering" her when Jeff posted similar rooming arrangements in university dorms.

Again Annette was not alone with her worries. Tomorrow we would pedal 183 kms, more than most of us had ever ridden at one time. This was the first of three 183-km longest-days of the trip. It seemed that our destination, the little town of Beiseker, Alberta, was a horrendously great distance away. Ray had earlier recounted that the weather had been strongly against the riders in '93. Fierce headwinds, rain and hail, temperatures close to freezing. Ten or 12 of the 42 riders, finding it impossible to complete the day, had holed-up in a motel. However, our forecast looked great and there were no thoughts of not making it. As Albert repeated, "He had made it over the mountains to the Great Divide, he was now confident he could make it all the way."

After eleven days of going steadily uphill, the thought of going downhill all the way to the Atlantic seemed too good to be true — every cyclist knows that the uphills always outnumber the downhills. And so it seemed on this trip. There were countless ups and not nearly enough downs still to negotiate. Somewhere on the road today I had accumulated the 1,000th kilometre on my odometer, a big milestone in my little mind.

The prairies beckoned...