The Long Way Around | Part 3

Over the Hump

Port Alberni to Englishman River 

Day Six started with a split. 

Dave, Lisa, and Monica drove from the cottage back into Port Alberni to rejoin the route. 

Jonny and Kim rode in. 

Because, apparently, they still had extra kilometers in them. 

Lisa, Monica, and Dave started riding from Port Alberni. 

Because they were coming from a different starting point than Jonny and Kim, they had a slightly different way back onto the route. 

Different, in this case, turned out to be good. 

Almost immediately, they found an amazing creek crossing. 

Clear water. 

Just enough depth to make it interesting. 

Just enough consequence to make everyone think about their line. 

One by one, they took their turns. 

Rolling in. 

Holding speed. 

Trying to look confident. 

Trying even harder not to put a foot down. 

It was the kind of crossing that makes everyone laugh before and after. 

During, there is only focus. 

Front wheel straight. 

Pedals level. 

Do not dab. 

Do not dab. 

Do not dab. 

Somehow, all three riders made it across. 

 

No soakers. 

Just barely. 

A small victory. 

But on a trip like this, small victories count. 

They eventually joined the main route again. 

And Jonny and Kim caught up soon afterwards. 

On a hike-a-bike climb out of Port Alberni. 

Loose rock. 

Steep pitch. 

Loaded bikes. 

Bad footing. 

The kind of climb that looks ugly from the bottom and somehow gets worse the closer it gets. 

It did not take long before most of the group was walking. 

 

Pushing. 

Slipping. 

Leaning into the bars. 

Trying not to kick pedals into shins. 

But Monica rode it. 

All of it. 

One hundred percent. 

While the rest of the group negotiated with gravity and called it strategy, Monica just kept pedalling. 

It was impressive. 

Incredibly impressive, the grades do not show up in images.  Strava files show some sections as; near vertical! 

The climb also delivered an important bikepacking lesson. 

Mountain bike shoes are useful. 

Carbon fibre road shoes are not. 

At least not when the route turns into loose rock and the day begins with walking a loaded bike uphill. 

Jonny and Kim learned that lesson the hard way. 

The expensive, slippery, awkward way. 

Bikepacking has a habit of revealing which gear choices were optimistic. 

Road shoes on the Alberni Bam Bam were optimistic. 

Once the group finally made it to the top of the hump, the day changed. 

The road opened up. 

The riding got better. 

A lot better. 

The group dropped down toward Lacy Lake, then continued on toward Horne Lake, and the further they went, the more the route seemed to relax. 

The roads improved, sort of… 

The bikes rolled faster. 

The group loosened up. 

After the wet, technical, punishing first half of the trip, this felt almost generous. 

Almost. 

Because the Alberni Bam Bam still had a few tricks left. 

The riders thought they were rolling well. 

Easily, even. 

The kind of riding where riders start to believe the hard stuff is finally behind them. 

Then the trail ended. 

Not gradually. 

Not with a confusing fork or a rough connector. 

It just ended. 

The map said go straight. 

The forest disagreed. 

There was nothing there. 

No road. 

No trail. 

No obvious way through. 

Just brush. 

Trees. 

Wet ground. 

And five riders standing around, looking at a line on a screen that seemed increasingly theoretical. 

The group searched around. 

Looked for signs. 

Found what they convinced themselves was evidence. 

A broken branch. 

A faint opening. 

A suggestion that someone else had been foolish enough to go this way before. 

Another lost Bam Bam rider, maybe. 

That was enough. 

Or at least they decided it was. 

So they pushed on. 

Literally. 

They dragged loaded bikes through scrub brush. 

Over ancient cedars. 

Through a swampy creek. 

Across a slash pile. 

There is no elegant way to move a loaded bike through that kind of terrain. 

Lift. 

Push. 

Trip. 

Swear. 

Laugh. 

Try not to hook a derailleur on anything important. 

Then do it again. 

Eventually, they popped out onto a road. 

Victorious. 

Scratched. 

Slightly confused. 

And very pleased with themselves. 

Only later did the group discover the truth. 

Kim’s map had been slightly off. 

There was a road they were supposed to take. 

A real road. 

The kind designed for bicycles, vehicles, and people who do not want to drag their bikes through a swampy creek. 

Oops. 

At least it made for a great memory. 

And by that point in the trip, great memories were starting to look a lot like questionable decisions survived together. 

The day was getting warmer now. 

A different problem from the rain. 

After days of trying not to freeze, overheating felt almost confusing. 

But Jonny was done with being hot. 

Not uncomfortable. 

Not mildly warm. 

Done. 

He announced that he needed to cool off. 

Immediately. 

So the route got a small detour. 

Down to the river. 

Bikes leaned wherever they would stay upright. 

Helmets came off. 

And Jonny went straight in. 

Shoes, socks, dignity, all negotiable. 

He stood in the water, scooping handfuls over his head, resetting his body temperature one splash at a time. 

The rest of the group watched and laughed. 

Not because it was ridiculous. 

Although it was. 

But because every long trip has these moments. 

Tiny emergencies that are not really emergencies. 

Small meltdowns that become instant classics. 

A rider standing in a river, pouring water over his own head, while everyone else agrees that yes, this was absolutely necessary. 

And honestly, it probably was. 

A few minutes later, Jonny was back. 

Cooler. 

Calmer. 

Ready to ride. 

The river had done its job. 

The group still had a mission. 

Coombs. 

Ice cream. 

Goats on the roof. 

And Finnish mustard. 

That last one was Dave’s. 

Dave knew they sold it there. 

He may have mentioned it more than once. 

Possibly too many times. 

Everyone had their own motivation for the detour. 

Some wanted ice cream. 

Some wanted to see the goats. 

Dave wanted the mustard. 

Simple enough. 

Then the route reminded Dave that excitement and bike handling do not always mix. 

There was a dip in the road. 

The kind that should have had a proper bridge. 

It did not. 

Instead, it had a bunch of logs laid lengthwise. 

Not across. 

Lengthwise. 

A small but meaningful detail. 

By the time Dave realized what he was looking at, he had already committed. 

Then he immediately uncommitted. It is amazing how many calculations a brain can make in an instant when faced with something like that. Sadly, Dave did not nail the landing. 

Not gracefully. 

Instead of riding it, Dave performed what could generously be called a spontaneous dismount. 

Over the bars. 

Onto his shoulder. 

The bike stopped. 

Dave did not. 

For a moment, everyone got quiet. 

The kind of quiet that follows a crash when people are trying to figure out whether to laugh, help, or both. 

Dave took a bit to get back to his feet. 

The shoulder had taken the hit. 

So had the ego. 

The ego may have been louder, but the shoulder was the bigger concern. 

Eventually, Dave got moving again. The group dragged a log in front of the non-bridge as a warning to ensure Monica and Lisa did not repeat the same mistake. 

Coombs was still waiting. 

So was the ice cream. 

And the mustard. 

Dave finished the ride there a little more carefully than he had started it. 

The ice cream helped. 

Not the shoulder. 

But the ego. 

A little. 

From there, the ride to Englishman River was relatively easy. 

At least by Alberni Bam Bam standards. 

Once the climbing of the hump was behind the group, the kilometres came more smoothly. 

The roads were better. 

The mood was lighter. 

And everyone made it to camp, one way or another. Dave opted for the truck ride back to the campsite, nursing his shoulder and whatever remained of his ego. 

Day Six had given the group loose rock, hike-a-bike, questionable footwear choices, Monica’s impressive climb, better roads, lakes, one accidental bushwhack, a swampy creek, a slash pile, Jonny in the river, goats on a roof, Finnish mustard, one surprise log bridge that was not a bridge, and a reminder that even the easier days can still bite. 

The route was softening. 

But it was not done with them yet.