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The long Road. Part 9 of 9: Canada

Rocky Mountains The long road had brought me to Canada. In the first Canadian town of Cardston I visited the only bike shop to solve my problem with the crank. It turned out that the bike shop did not have a repairman anymore, neither did he have a spair crank and pedal. I had to carry on for another seventy kilometers to Lethbridge. I was worried. If the crank breaks, I would have to walk, a very unpleasant prospect. Three nerve-racking hours I needed to reach the town. It was no less than a miracle that the pedal still hung like a dead bird at my crank when I cycled into the decent-sized town. I found a bicycle shop with adequate spare parts and in a short time the problem was solved. I was relieved. I could start for the last part of my cycling trip without worries. Because of the issue with the crank, I had strayed more than a hundred kilometers east from my intended route I found myself in the grain fields of Alberta. The countryside looked modern and prosperous. A big difference with the steppes of the United States, where at best a few cows or sheep were held, but where mostly nothing was done with the land. Is the ground now better on the Canadian side of the border? Or are more modern, better agricultural techniques applied here? It was good for the Canadians that rural Alberta was this wealthy, but for me it was boring to cycle through the endless cornfields. After two hundred kilometers I reached the outskirts of Calgary, the city where in 1988 the Olympic Winter Games were held. I had expected a modern and sports-mad city. Nothing was less true. In the thirty kilometers from the suburbs to the center, I had not seen any fellow cyclist at all nor a runner or other athlete. I did not see any people on the street whatsoever. Everyone was in the office or, especially, in the car. It was difficult to survive in the traffic. Over a twelve lane highway without shoulder I cycled into the city of Calgary. The chaos of the traffic was unnerving. It was clearly not the kind of cycling adventure why I started the journey. Calgary was the most dangerous city on the American continent for me as a cyclist. Actually there was not really anything positive that could act as a counterbalance. The only place that I liked, was a little street with Chinese shops and restaurants. But I did not have to cross the American continent to eat delicious Chinese food, therefore I could have stayed just as well in the Netherlands. I continued my way to the last real highlight of the trip, the Canadian Rocky Mountains. I cycled towards Banff, the first mountain resort of Canada. I approached the wall of the Rockies, which initially contrasted sharply against the blue sky. Soon there loomed a much larger wall of pitch black clouds over the Rocky Mountains. Half an hour later the whole mountain was hidden from view. A curtain of rain, hail or snow laid before the mountain range. What exactly took place under the cloud mass, I could not determine from here, but it must have been horrible. That proved true. When the clouds reached me fifteen minutes later, from one to another second, I found myself in a mess of rain, hail and hurricane-like winds. I suddenly had a raging storm against which mounted terrifying loads of icy rain drops and hailstones horizontally against me. I cried from the intense cold. Within a minute my hands were frozen stiff. With a speed of barely ten kilometers per hour I crept forth. I had a splitting headache from the freezing rain that hit against my face. Everywhere was water. The river had risen to the top of its banks and the rain water flowed in waves over the road. After half an hour the storm died down slowly and an hour later it was dry again. Fresh snow had fallen on the slopes of the mountains. The snow line almost reached to the valley. The sun broke through, but there were several other showers in the landscape. The last forty kilometers to Banff, I got two more winter showers, less in intensity, but still bitterly cold. Like a numb dog I knocked at the door of one of the youth hostels in Banff. After the storm it remained cold. The next day there were several winter storms again. I decided to insert a rest day. There was little reason to it, but my early morning stroll ended up a two thousand meter high mountain. I was enjoying myself and I simply walked for hours up over the footpath between the coniferous trees until I finally stood on the top. There were great views over the valley and the higher mountains deeper in the Rockies. It was a great 'rest day'. According to the Canadians, Lake Louise is the most beautiful place on Earth. The turquoise lake lies against the breathtaking backdrop of a massive wall of rock, snow and glaciers. For many hundreds of dollars you can stay in a megalomaniac hotel complex in the style of the Ceausescu Palace. Even a room in a simple hotel was about two hundred and fifty dollars. For spartan people who want to cut costs, there is a solution. In the National Parks of Banff and Jasper are several campsites without shower and without running water, but with bear lockers. A pitch cost between five and ten dollars. The extreme price difference between the luxury hotels and campsites and the complete absence of middle class options emphasized the immense wealth disparities within the Canadian and American societies. The End of the Road The Icefields Parkway was linking Banff and Lake Luise with Jasper. The road is the finest in the world, according to the Canadians. The Icefields Parkway has broad shoulders, what makes the road very suitable for cyclists. The route is very busy in the summer due to recreational traffic, but now it was fall and it was quiet on the road. I cycled through dense pine forests. In the lower regions there were aspen. The golden yellow leaves conrasted sharply against the green conifers and against the deep blue sky. If the weather is nice in the fall, it is really nice weather. The Canadians call these beautiful autumn days 'Indian Summer'. Late in the afternoon the mercury could rise to more than twenty degrees Celsius. The weather had changed radically after a few days ago. The Icefields Parkway led through the broad glacial valleys of the national Parks Banff and Jasper. Mighty rivers like the River Sasketchawan flowed through the vast landscape. The valleys were flanked by mountain ridges with jagged snow and rock peaks. There were glaciers and small icecaps in the landscape and waterfalls tumbled from the cliffs downwards. The national parks of Banff and Jasper were the last absolute Highlights of the trip. I enjoyed the last warm sun rays of the year. And most of all I underwent the wild beauty of the unspoiled nature. I parked my bike at the side of the road to walk to the tongue of the Athabasca Glacier. The early morning sun reflected on the shiny ice surface. The Athabasca Glacier was the most spectacular ice tongue of the national parks, situated between two rows of vertical rock and ice walls. I realized that I was undergoing the last kilometers of my camino. After the Athabasca Glacier the way only led down to Jasper, the final destiny of the journey. Images of the journey went through my head. With full surrender I had plunged myself in the adventure. During the sixteen months of the journey I was focused on recording all the experiences to the depths of my veins. The long journey through the ever-changing worlds was like a wild roller coaster ride and my soul was almost overflowing of the many deep impressions. I had cycled more than 30,000 kilometers across the American continent. Everywhere I had seen misery and sadness and I had seen people languishing in poverty. At the other end of the spectrum, I met people who were bathing in prosperity, who had locked themselves in big houses with thick walls to keep the bad world out. Fear is a high price for prosperity. I was convinced that we need to tear down the walls. The walls between rich and poor, between home and abroad, the walls between the own religious group and the others. The walls between us and them. Besides misery and sadness I saw beauty and happiness. Happiness fell from heaven as a ray of sun, was carried in a cool evening breeze or was carelessly given away with a friendly smile. Sometimes happiness was not to be found in a whole city, at other times it flowed in busloads in the desert. Where happiness definitely was abesnt, was in the past and in the future. Happiness was only in the moment itself and only if I could find it. It was neither within myself, nor outside myself. Happiness seemed to have something to do with openness, with free-flowing energy, with the interaction with other humans and animals. I cycled in the town of Jasper, the final destination of the journey. I parked my bike against the railway station. I had reached the end of the road. The long road, that had led me through South America, Central America, Mexico and the United States to this little railway station in the Canadian Rocky Mountains. Like a lovestruck young man I looked at my shiny red bicycle that was leaning nonchalantly against the train station. It is a small wonder that something simple and commonplace as a bicycle had piloted me through all the challenges, meetings and experiences of my camino. The naturalness that my companion of the road was radiating, was pure class. The message was clear: if you need me, I will be there for you. Now and in the future. I went inside to buy a train ticket to Edmonton, the city from where I would fly back to the Netherlands. My camino had ended, but there was another that waited: the search for a new life in the Netherlands or in any other place in the world. I would not travel that road completely on my own. Margarita would come to me for three months to sepnd some time together in Europe. For other protagonists of the story, the camino would continue too. José had a successful rehabilitation and his eyesight had recovered completely. He had traveled back to Bolivia to resume the bicycle tour in Sucre. Suzie had tried to settle down in her Manchester residence after her trip through South America. She wanted something else in life thoug, and eventually she traveled to Thailand to teach there again. And my own camino? I felt grateful for the privilege to have been able to undertake such a journey. I started with a bike and some bags with luggage an that is exactly how I ended the trip. Only memories would remain. Memories of the sometimes poetic and sometimes brutal beauty of the landscapes. Of the moments of solitude and the moments of fear and misery. Of the adventures that I experienced and of the indomitable will that I frequently had to find within myself. Of love and friendship and the experiences of meditative silence. Travelling by bicycle confronted me deeply with the imperfection of myself and also with the imperfection of the world around me. But most of all I saw people strive to overcome these imperfections and to help each other. I found love and I found friends on the road. Everywhere I met people who were trying to make something out of their lives in their own peculiar way. I felt grateful that I got to know these special people and that I have been permitted to experience the beauty of the Earth and all its landscapes and animals and plants. It is these experiences of unity, with people and animals and nature, with Heaven and Earth, with life and death, which give meaning to the long and winding road of life. Kaart van Canada