At 9am I left Princeton campsite, joined the highway and cycled down the hill. After 10 mins I noticed my Garmin telling me I was off course, except the route was just on the other side of the river. It would join up "soon", right?
I didn't want to retrace as I was concerned about this cold I'd picked up and went with it for the moment but as the traffic kept coming I longed for that other road. I checked. It went on for miles and there were no bridges.
I'd only been riding 15 minutes so I turned around, headed back and justified it with the opportunity to have a second breakfast at a nice-looking cafe in town.
The chocolate croissant was big and the breakfast tea went down with lots of sugar and two bike packers turned up for a chat - one from Seattle and the other "just finishing off" his Tour Divide South to North ride.
As I struggled to get out the words of a sentence, sputtering out the words over my cold which bit at the back of my throat like a bee-sting, they both nodded and said, "it's something in the air". I explained my track record of 1 in 1 occurrences of a cold appearing right before an international competition but they both confirmed they were suffering the same condition - "it's the smoke!".
Cue long discussion about how we thought it was over etc. but I set off down the valley again with renewed optimism. Not for the ride into smoke but for the not being sick part.
The optimism continued as I first followed the trail and then a perfectly surfaced road past some of the most beautiful swim spots I have ever seen. Campgrounds abounded and kids played and I rolled by, thinking I'd definitely stop for a swim on the way back (note to self: should have sopped because it wasn't nearly as idyllic on the way back).
After not long enough I rejoined the main highway and my joy decreased. The mumbling of traffic led to the haze of smoke from the wildfires in the interior and the distant peaks gradually turned silver through the haze. My throat started to itch and I felt the need to somehow protect myself.
The government guideline was to avoid hard physical exercise but I'd been on the road for a few days and all hills were hard by now. I tried breathing through my nose thinking the nose hairs would filter the particulates but even at an easy gear I couldn't seem to get enough air through my pathetic nasal passages to fuel my muscles. I tried to breathe out through my mouth to improve flow but I was gradually desiccating, breathing in dry air and breathing out all the moisture. My head started to sting as I pushed less and less oxygen through the contracted airways until eventually my nose burned intolerably dry and I took my first few tentative mouth-breaths.
Finally relief.
I pulled into Hedley cafe for a rest - a truckstop style caf in a gold mining town where the museum is "temporarily" closed. Since there was nothing until Keremeos where I would be around 3pm, 11:30 transpired to be lunchtime. French toast and a plate of chips later and I resumed mouth breathing with sips from my Camelbak, supplemented with ice water.
The route to Keremeos was also supplemented with a few minor (although rewarding) detours off the main road to pass through tiny native villages and then the main crossing over the river via a big red road bridge I had always admired but never crossed when I lived here. The detour through the fruit trees cheered me up no end, as did the diversion into Keremeos - historically avoided via detour around the "bypass".
The cafe had run out of icecream and soda so my much-anticipated milkshake was downgraded first to fruit soda and then to sprite plus syrup. Shocking in a town selling fresh fruit from the trees and they still charged me $5. Added to the list of places NOT to stop on the way back.
When I left town I was pleased to note an alternative organic farm cafe on the way out. Plan formed.
When I came out, the air felt clearer - or maybe it was the $5 ice cubes. The first short hill was enough to remind me it wasn't completely clear but I settled back into my routine of going easy on the climbs then standing up on the descents to recover my bruises and let circulation back into my sit bones. I finally reached the Green Mountain turn off in mid afternoon, having debated this turn all day.
I was looking forward to the picturesque traffic free option but not the climbs, extra distance and lack of anything. Still, I plunged into instant relief as I realised that the trees which give the mountain its colour and hence its name were filtering out much of the smoke and dryness and the air was relatively normal.
My legs, however were not and as I watched the bear scat roll by I doubted my ability to out sprint a bear, no matter how much adrenaline. I focused on trying not to wobble off the road.
Eventually I passed that familiar turn off to Apex mountain resort, pleased to have avoided the rush hour that would coincide with bumping into my ex-husband (only chance I might see him) and enjoyed the lovely descent through to the reserve. At one point I thought I'd been sworn at by a motorcyclist which left me dismayed as Canadians tend to respect, not heckle cyclists. Then I realised he was warning me that the road surface approaching was "feckin awful" and appreciated his words as I skittered across the gravel.
I dropped out at Greenwood forest products completely spent and starving. The factory was closed and anyway I was heading straight to the donut shop across the road. Sadly now a Tim Hortons but I could at least get a salad and devour the milkshake I'd been harbouring all day.
For once I shunned the cold, air conditioned indoors and embraced the heat and remaining smoke to enjoy a meal in a familiar environment. With 8 miles to go it seemed irresponsible to adjust to a different climate. Besides, even outside was starting to feel "a bit chilly".
I shivered my way back to life and warmed up with a ride along the channel path (still an awful surface) before deciding not to risk the worse lakeshore trail with a fully loaded bike but stick to the highway that I know.
Uphill but at least not as daunting as the precipitous drop to the campsite. I realised I was going to become familiar with the lakeshore path.
I had no energy left to argue with the campsite steward who stuck me between two roads and the bins. I tried but sulked off and kept myself to myself. I spent a good 20 minutes trying to see any flat ground on my pitch then threw up my tent and went to sit in the shower and do my laundry.
I was to suffer this campsite for as little as possible before moving to town. The lakeshore path was tollerable to ride along and overwhelmingly pleasant to run along. I hated the campsite but I liked its location. As soon as I could I moved into town for 1 night then into a hotel before the race.
My deal with Penticton was done by then and my enthusiasm for Canadian lakeshore camping was over. The Kaleden campsite kept me away from the cryathletes withering around town in self importance and allowed me a quiet swim twice a day away from the crowds of kids but that was it. I'd never go back there again unless seriously out of season.
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