Lake Louise, Moraine Lake and reflections on my extended road trip.

Today I rode to Lake Louise and Moraine Lake. I had been told many times how beautiful these lakes are and I must agree but it seems the places with the reputations are the places with tour buses full of picture takers. Still it was a great ride with some good climbs and a little bit of rain dodging. I really love this area of the world. At the end of this post are my reflections of my road trip to date.

 These French riders are easily into their 70s or perhaps older.

Hey big guy. Why are you hiding?

Taking the obligatory shot in the rain

 The classic Lake Louise shot.

On the way to Moraine Lake.

This is Moraine Lake and the view on the old Canadian 20$ bill.

This sign indicating a cattle guard made me laugh. They use cattle guards and overpasses to keep the wildlife off of the major highways that run through the wilderness. We could benefit from this technology but infrastructure spending has not been our strong suit for a long time.

Slate beside the road. Looks like a patio to me.

So the following day I sat around camp and watched the rains come and go and wrote the following thoughts about the trip so far.

Here I sit in my little camp on the Icefield Parkway. My tour of north America is at it’s midway point. My feelings for being on the road swing broadly from loneliness on one end to camaraderie and excitement on the other.

My little Prius is holding up and all the preparations have paid off. Some winter gear remains unused though most mornings it is in the low 40s up here as it was in Maine. All the gear for riding in the cold has so far gone ignored. If a ride requires more than arm and leg warmers, I’ll just find something else to do until it warms up a bit.

The constant sense of urgency is falling away. I find that if I feel the need to be doing something just for the sake of filling every moment, it is best to back up, re-evaluate my priorities and relax until my desires find a purpose. Sometimes that means a ride, sometimes a hike, and sometimes just a drive with many stops along the way. The need to plan is fading in it’s feeling of urgency and has been replaced with the faith that an idea will come or a path will be shown.

While I sit here, the site across from me has been vacated by the young couple in their small tent and is being occupied by the older couple in the pickup, backing in the large trailer while communicating by walkie-talkie and so it goes. Such is the ebb and flow of life in the campgrounds. I like to stay a few nights in each place to reduce the effort of making and breaking camp a bit. There becomes a cycle of shopping for food and ice, cooking, keeping the chaos of living out of a car to a bearable level, doing laundry, and being ever watchful for the opportunity of a shower. The campgrounds with showers are not always where I want them to be and they tend to have a different feel to them that is less like camping and more like a mobile home park.

I much prefer the tent only campgrounds as the people there tend to be younger of spirit and less like suburbanites transplanted into the woods in their aluminum boxes on wheels. I have entertained the idea of these boxes but this trip has put the final nail in the coffin of that idea. There remains the possibility of some type of camper van though the cost and the mileage keep it as a distant option.

At this point and at several points in my journey, my thoughts wander to the notion of returning home. There is so much left to see and learn and the idea of stepping back into the quicksand of my daily routine so soon keeps me grateful for where I am.

I sit here with a good book, an iPod, a great cup of coffee, a full belly and a few lazy mosquitoes to keep me company. The sound of traffic on the Icefield Parkway is off and on during the day and gone at night. Today I think I’ll sit and read, write a little and take a hike up to Lake Helen. All this would be perfect if I could share it with Kimberly but she seems less than interested. So often I am experiencing things that I know she would love but apparently she loves her warm bed and comfortable home more than the idea of sharing this life with me. I don’t know what I can do about that.

As I sit writing, the sun that I woke to slides behind some clouds that have snuck up from behind the mountains to the west. In the Canadian Rockies, I’ve learned that that means it is time to put things away so I set this aside and stow lucky and my camp kitchen and comfortable camp chair into the safety of the Prius as the first drops begin to fall. I and my warmed up coffee are now in the driver’s seat of my fine old travel pod considering a trip to town for supplies. Such is the rhythm of camping in the Canadian Rockies in the summer.

It is almost noon and the temperature has warmed to 55 degrees so I’ve shed my down coat and my thoughts return to home and the endless heat and the empty lakes and what it would be like if I was there working. No, I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. There are doubtless still lessons to learn and changes to accept out here on the road.

I miss my beloved Kimbo, yet I know the journey is somehow defined by the aloneness and the connections that are made with others and with myself. I have met many good people and that would not have been possible or necessary if I was with a partner. So the longing to be with my sweet girl will have to be a part of the journey like the longing for a daily shower. The comfort of both makes me feel more complete but on some level each keeps me from finding a certain adventure that the world can offer those willing to taste discomfort. Such is life on the road.

August 13, 2013 on the Icefield Parkway in Alberta Canada somewhere between Banff and Jasper in the land of the receding glaciers and the creeping forests, where black bears and some grizzlies are a daily sighting and the rain is never far away no matter how clear the sky is overhead. Those things and others demand a certain preparedness and acceptance. A shower would be good.