Cumulative distance: 1384 km
Maximum speed: 131 kph
Moving average: 79 kph
Overall average: 76 kph
Moving time: 3:42
Total time: 3:51
Temperature range 23.2 - 36.0*C
I'm melting! melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?
You think it's hot? You have no idea. We saw 36 on the bike but it was 40.5 in Pemberton. At the pool. We had big plans that we would "go for a ride" after having a lunch break in Pemberton but it was just too hot to be on the bike any longer.
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We tell Deborah the night before that because the forecast
is, according to her husband, for 41, we
want to get an early start. She tells us that the forecast has moderated and it
is for a mere 32 so we conclude it won’t be necessary to get quite the early
start we were thinking we needed, but we will still try to be on the road by 9. That
means she will have to get up at 5 in order to cook us the massive breakfast
she is accustomed to serving. She tells me later that 5 is her usual up time in
the summer. 4:30 in winter.
We are strategically planning how we will eat all the
breakfast and then be able to ride afterwards. We decide we will eat a moderate
amount and then secretly pack away as much of what is left over so that we have
something for lunch later in the morning.
When we get up, all signs are that it is going to be a
scorcher. Deborah apologizes; where we are going, the forecast is for 8,230
degrees. Nan decides to wear a bathing suit under her riding
gear; I wear a bathing suit and a tank top that I can soak in water. Nonetheless, we are committed to
our plan and since we didn’t get up early enough to be on our way by 8, we are non-chalant. In fact, by
the time we have had a tour of the little guest cabin Deborah has, it is 9:30 am by
the time we are pulling out. Great place
to visit and worth the stay. Nan says she will come back with girlfriends or
family or something.
We do the side trip by Green Lake. It’s as shorter route to
Pemberton but a slower, scenic and fun ride. It would be worthwhile to come
back on a dedicated exploration motorcycle trip and just do day trips from a
base camp.
On the ride down 97 to Lillooet, we get a sense for how
dangerous it can be on a motorcycle, irrespective of how carefully we are
riding. We are following behind a car that is slow moving and cutting every
left curve so that he is way into the lane of oncoming traffic. Plus, he is
using a very erratic braking pattern, which is throwing us (i.e. "me") off a little. This
isn’t just a one-off miscue, it is every single curve. Nan says she doesn’t trust this guy. Because
the road is so windy, it is not possible to get by this person and we are being
followed by a large number of vehicles at this point. Though the traffic is
fairly light, it is not non-existent and many vehicles travelling in the
on-coming lane are having to swerve to avoid a head–on collision. This
includes numerous motorcycles AND I NOTE, NONE OF THE DRIVERS HAVE TIME TO
WAVE. I memorize his licence plate number because I am thinking I should be
calling the police. Finally, we get our chance to pass and as we are going by,
I see his vehicle on the lines and I envision his vehicle drifting into the
left lane and hitting us or cutting us off, so I use the rare tactic of laying
into the horn as we go by. I rarely to this because (a.) it might be a client
of mine and (b.) it is so un-Canadian. Sure enough, it’s my client Joe Bloggs.
(Joe, I am sorry, if you are reading this, you need to move your account out.) So we turn off at Lillooet to 99 South to
Pemberton and now I don’t know if this bozo is following us or going down to
Hope, so I abandon the idea of calling the police. I regret that we didn’t take
a picture of him in the wrong lane because I still would have e-mailed it in.
The road from Lillooet to Pemberton is one of the
exceptional motorcycle roads that everyone should do at some point. Assuming
you ride a motorcycle. If that is not in the cards for you, a close second
would be followed by renting a really hot sports car, preferably a convertible,
and doing the drive that way. Every
single inch of that road is scenic and twisty.
The bad news for me is that it also requires every iota of attention and
I don’t divert my eyes from the road for a nanosecond. Except to look for a
place to pull over so we can cool off. We have been on the road for about an
hour and three quarters and already, we are smokin’ hot. We see the Marble
Canyon campground (not to be confused with Marble Canyon in Banff Park) and we
fondly reminisce camping there a few years ago so we turn in, stop the bike and
race to the little, clear blue lake that accompanies the campground. Since we
have anticipated this moment, we are already dressed for it and there is a
string of riding gear trailing to the lake as we strip it off and plunge
into the cool, refreshing water. Afterwards,
we soak our shirts to help keep us cool and we
take off.
We are pretty lucky this day because our expectation is for
heavy traffic: motorhomes, trailers and campers blocking our way but in fact,
for the most part, we rarely get behind a vehicle that we can’t get around or
holds traffic up. One of the few times we are behind such a vehicle, it is in
fact a sub-compact car but it is just one moving very slowly. Eventually, there
is quite a long line of traffic behind this vehicle; we are about fourth back.
There is no point in even attempting to pass in this kind of a scenario because
it is simply just too dangerous with the number of cars involved and the
particularly short passing lanes.
Eventually, the driver wakes up and realizes he had about ten vehicles
following behind and pulls to the side to let everybody past. I contemplate
laying into the horn despite the fact that (a) it might be a client and (b) it
is so un-Canadian and – DANG! – he has a California plate! That means they are
guests in our country and I don’t want them to go home and comment on how rude
Canadians are so I forego sending him a message. Aside from which, it was my client Jack
Bloggs. Hi Jack!
So, the ride is otherwise uneventful, if not spectacular. It
is intense riding; plenty of curves marked 20, 30 and 40 km/h. Of course, we know better, that those signs
are not meant for motorcycles. Still, it is an exercise in focus and my eyes
are riveted, my hands gripping the handlebars extra hard and my knees giving my
torn groin a workout squeezing the bike.
Nan is taking pictures. Of Mr. Sunday.
There is no shortage of rivers, wooden bridge crossings, waterfalls,
glaciers and mountain peaks to fill an entire holiday, let along one day’s
ride. This rivals the Jasper-Banff
highway, just with more and tighter curves. The only thing is that it is so hot
that the tar that has been used to fill the cracks on the road is soft and
slippery. Really slippery. Every time we
go around a corner, I can feel the bike slip a little bit on each little crack
and it is unnerving.
We roll into Pemberton around 1:45, just before it sets it’s
record temperature. The bike thermometer, our “official” thermometer for the
trip, is percolating at 36. We are soaked riding in our black motorcycle
outfits.
The Pemberton Valley Lodge isn’t ready for us, so we opt to
go get a bite of lunch before we gain admittance to our room. We end up at The Pony, a pretty good burger
bar and the place is packed with people watching Germany trounce Argentina in
the World Cup 1-0, I’m told. Oddly enough,
nobody appears to be drinking or eating; I think it is so hot that they have
consumed all the beer they can handle and as the game is in it’s final stages,
they are beer’d out. Not us. But because
we still have 30 seconds of riding back to the hotel, I can only have one. When we get out of the restaurant, the bike
thermometer has blown through the roof and registers ---C. But that is in the sun.
When we are checked in, all we can do is strip off our
riding gear and race to the pool. People on the pool deck are marvelling at the
thermometer on the deck, which is registering 40.5. That is not the “official”
temperature because it is not on the bike but we know it is smokin’ hot.
After the pool, we walk back into Pemberton to find
ourselves a glass of beer. Let’s just leave it at that.
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