The Rocky Mountains in the second century were certainly not much different than they were in the first century--a place of unspoiled wilderness far from the reaches of human thought, uncrossed by roads, and completely absent of peak names, ski resorts, national parks, and man-made boundaries.  As in my previous entry, however, I am speaking of distance, not time, and this century was much different in terms of motivation than my first during this bicycle slogfest.

My first 100+ mile day immediately followed good rest, and I felt good, savoring the road.  This time, however, I was weary, having crossed into Canada several days earlier, and was motivated mostly by culture shock.  First, there was the exorbitant price of everything, from a bottle of Gatorade ($4.00) to a dozen eggs ($3.60).  Suddenly, it seemed, my nutritional options diminished in droves.  I was glad I had brought that big bag of rice and a couple of cans of blacks beans all the way from North Carolina.  Then, there was the ridiculous traffic--big trucks, tour buses, and obnoxious RVs.  And, here in southern Canada, they always seem to come in dangerous bunches.  Finally, there was the jolt of having to alter my route on the fly.  For many miles, I had patiently anticipated an incredible ride through Kootenay, Banff, and Jasper National Parks in the Canadian Rockies.  At the entrance to these parks, however, I was confronted with ridiculous entrance fees and the fact that I and my S.A.G. partner would not be allowed to sleep at night in our vehicle.  No way we were paying $40.00 per night to stay in some government campground.  It would take me at least five days to get through those parks and cost about $300.00!

So, after 42 straight miles in the saddle without so much as a pause or a bathroom break, I ran into a cold rain and was forced to wait it out under the awning of a hotel.  I still got soaked dropping into the tourist trap of Radium Hot Springs and then quickly found out that the national park route was not financially feasible.  A good day’s ride was already in the books, but I could not deal with the tourists or the RVs any longer.  The only escape was to keep pedaling up Highway 95 toward Golden.  A short while later, an overly-priced meal at a golf clubhouse provided energy while further heightening the culture shock.  The only relief was to keep pedaling.  As the day began to fade, the Columbia Valley, away from the tourist crowds, suddenly seemed pleasant, and from time to time, snowy crags poked their heads out of the clouds to the west.  It rained on me a couple more times.  Again, the only medicine was the pedal revolution.

About the time my S.A.G. partner started looking for a pull-off where we could camp for the night, having already passed up a couple of mosquito-infested ones, I transitioned into the zone where a century began to look doable (approximately 85 miles).  As darkness fell, I decided to go for it, my sole motivation being to further vent the day’s frustration.  After 90 miles, a herd of elk stampeded across the highway right in front of me.  Unnerving!  There were big deer everywhere, and I kept my eyes open for grizzlies.

Eventually, I road up on the S.A.G. vehicle parked in an empty parking lot at an abandoned elementary school--a sweet little spot with no mosquitoes.  There was a problem, however.  It was 1.5 miles shy of a century.  My OCD forced me onward until we found a highway rest area at which point my odometer read 103.85 for the day.  We climbed into the back of the truck in a pouring rain with mosquitoes everywhere.

Thus was my second century in the Rockies.  Culture shock can be a powerful stimulant.  I am now well into Canada, and I still don that same pair of TCK Slog Series Green Terrace Rolls each and every morning .  They continue to endure.  Will I?

-Jesse Boyd