I severely underestimated how hard and long this section would be.

Simply put, this was the hardest ride of my life. Words do not exist that would accurately describe how hard it was for me. Any words I might choose would simply be an understatement of the shear hell I endured today.

I stopped in Aggasiz this morning for breakfast. I was really looking forward to a traditional truckers breakfast - eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, coffee - but had to settle instead for A&W. It was the only thing open before 9:00. The road was mostly flat leaving Agassiz, then it climbed a bit before descending into Hope. I had lunch at Subway, then headed over to the post office to mail home my rear axle, my work ID card (which I stupidly forgot in my rain jacket), and a few other items which I determined I wouldn't need. Anything to lighten the load. My research told me that there was little in the way of civilization between Hope and Princeton, so I stocked up on food at the grocery store. I looked around in vain for an internet café, and finding none open, decided to hit the hill. I had a long, hard climb ahead of me.

It was a good steep grade climbing out of Hope. I accepted the fact that I would probably be climbing for the next two to three hours and switched to the granny gear to conserve my strength for later. About a half hour out of Hope, I spotted a hitchhiker who asked me for directions to get to Edmonton. This guy looked like he just stepped out of a time machine from the 60's: tie-dyed t-shirt, long braided hair, scraggly beard, John-Lennon wire frame glasses, peace symbol and a bandana. Another reinforcement of the west-coast stereotype….

The climb continued. At one point, I could see large signs up ahead and some sort of rest area. I thought to myself, "I've reached Allison Pass already. It wasn't as hard as I expected!" Boy, was I ever wrong. I had reached the Hope Slide, probably about one-third of the way to the top of the pass. The Hope Slide was the site of a massive slide in the 50's or 60's that buried the original road under about 100 meters of rock. I took some photos, bummed some sunscreen from another tourist, and carried on.

I stopped at a gas station for water and junk food just outside the gate for Manning Park. The grade was gentle entering the park and then started climbing again in earnest. At one point, I spotted a car up ahead pull over and park on the shoulder to take pictures. "Pictures of what", I asked myself. I could barely make out two points of black moving back and forth in the ditch opposite from the car. Great. Bears. And me with a loaf of bread and other goodies strapped to my panniers!

As I approached, I could discern that the two black points were indeed two black bears - two cubs in fact. Where was the mother? As if on cue, she popped her head up to take a look, no more than 40 feet away from me. No doubt she wanted to know where all the grunting, groaning, and cursing was coming from. Perhaps she had a hankering for a peanut-butter jelly and Ray sandwich. I didn't want to find out, so I hightailed it to the opposite side of the road and started pedaling like a madman.

After about 200 meters or so, it was obvious she wasn't that interested in me, so I stopped to catch my breath. I started walking my bike and it was then that I met my fourth bear of the day, a huge brown bear no more than 20 feet away, who also decided to startle me by popping up unexpectedly on hind legs to check me out. I must have caught him eating lunch; he had big tuftfulls of grass sticking out of either end of his mouth. Back on the bike! Head for the other side of the road! Pedal like mad!

Later, I realized how irrational my behavior was. There was no need to panic. As long as I gave the bears the respect and the distance they deserved, there was no need to fear for my life.

The road continued up and up. The river below the road and the increasingly higher mountains created an optical illusion. Often it looked like I was biking on a flat or even descending, but in reality, I was always climbing. The temperature dropped and as I neared the summit, I saw snow
in the forests lining the road and wisps of cloud masking the mountain peaks.

I passed a snow plow depot, the first sign of civilization since entering the park. No sign of the pass summit yet. The road descended a bit and I spotted a primitive campground on the right. I was tempted to stop for the night, but I really needed a shower, so I pressed on.

Down the road, I came upon a lodge, restaurant, and convenience store that were nowhere to be found on the map. I asked the store clerk if Allison Pass was much farther, and she told me that I had passed it already - back by the snow plow depot. The sign must have been blown down during the winter. I inquired about campsites with showers and running water, but there were none - just the primitive campground I passed already and another down the road. It was getting late, my legs were simply dead, and my knees were screaming, so I sprang for a room at the lodge. It wasn't as bad as I expected. Less than $100, and the lodge was brand spanking new.

I was completely exhausted and wanted to sleep but couldn't. I woke up several times through the night due to thirst. I was extremely dehydrated.

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