Praise to the Evening
On sunday night I lamented out loud the fact that I had not had a chance to ride the scoot all weekend. Anie, my lovely and understanding wife, said "Why don't you go now?" Now being about 6:30PM. Without wasting a second, I hopped on Couchette and headed for the hills.
After a bit of indecision, I decided to try my favourite local ride again, but backwards. I headed through the industrial park and out towards the St. Eugene Mission golf resort, which is a strange and beautiful place, a juxtaposition of wealth and poverty, pain and redemption, and the resilience of a people. The Mission used to be one of the nefarious residential schools, where hundreds of native children were sent to have their ways 'corrected'. They turned it into a resort and casino now, and it is quite something. The building feels haunted though...
Anyways, the road to the mission leads across the Qtunaxa First Nation reserve. The road is windy and turns in and out of dry grassy hills, leaving a ladder of shade in the late evening. Riding past the Mission, the setting sun turned the building into a silhouette, making it even more eerie looking.
From there it leads over a bridge across the St. Marys river, and back North towards the Cranbrook airport. Again, the roads are winding, and more forested here. Very few cars end up coming this way, so the road was deserted and peaceful but for my two stroke tearing the silence in two.
Out towards Wycliffe the road crossed right past the airport, then levels off on a large plateau of acreages and wild grass that serves up a view of mountains in every direction. I stopped there and took this picture, which is typical of the views I have to ride with.
The road then cuts back West, and crosses the highway to Kimberley, and then drops steeply to a one-lane wooden bridge across a chasm cut by the St. Marys again. I would love to have a closer look, but I am always to worried about the wheels getting stuck in a rut and dumping me.
After climbing back out of the little valley, I cut off to King Street, which leads back towards Cranbrook. It too follows a small valley bottom, and as soon as I lean into the first turn of the road, the air cools off quickly and it hits me like a blast from an air conditioner. Feeling refreshed, I goose the throttle and feel the little bike surge out of the turn and into the next. I am just getting into the rhythm of the turns when the bike starts sputtering, so I reach down and click it over to the reserve tank. I have about 10kms to ride, and I should be able to make it. Just to be sure, I ease back on the throttle and decide to enjoy a leisurely homestretch.
Pulling back into Cranbrook, i feel like a king. Wind in hair. Bugs in Teeth. And a bit of the weight taken off my mind for the coming week full of work. As I pull down the garage door, I give Couchette a pat on the seat and say 'good work'. I needed her to run well for the next day's test, which she did.
After a bit of indecision, I decided to try my favourite local ride again, but backwards. I headed through the industrial park and out towards the St. Eugene Mission golf resort, which is a strange and beautiful place, a juxtaposition of wealth and poverty, pain and redemption, and the resilience of a people. The Mission used to be one of the nefarious residential schools, where hundreds of native children were sent to have their ways 'corrected'. They turned it into a resort and casino now, and it is quite something. The building feels haunted though...
Anyways, the road to the mission leads across the Qtunaxa First Nation reserve. The road is windy and turns in and out of dry grassy hills, leaving a ladder of shade in the late evening. Riding past the Mission, the setting sun turned the building into a silhouette, making it even more eerie looking.
From there it leads over a bridge across the St. Marys river, and back North towards the Cranbrook airport. Again, the roads are winding, and more forested here. Very few cars end up coming this way, so the road was deserted and peaceful but for my two stroke tearing the silence in two.
Out towards Wycliffe the road crossed right past the airport, then levels off on a large plateau of acreages and wild grass that serves up a view of mountains in every direction. I stopped there and took this picture, which is typical of the views I have to ride with.
The road then cuts back West, and crosses the highway to Kimberley, and then drops steeply to a one-lane wooden bridge across a chasm cut by the St. Marys again. I would love to have a closer look, but I am always to worried about the wheels getting stuck in a rut and dumping me.
After climbing back out of the little valley, I cut off to King Street, which leads back towards Cranbrook. It too follows a small valley bottom, and as soon as I lean into the first turn of the road, the air cools off quickly and it hits me like a blast from an air conditioner. Feeling refreshed, I goose the throttle and feel the little bike surge out of the turn and into the next. I am just getting into the rhythm of the turns when the bike starts sputtering, so I reach down and click it over to the reserve tank. I have about 10kms to ride, and I should be able to make it. Just to be sure, I ease back on the throttle and decide to enjoy a leisurely homestretch.
Pulling back into Cranbrook, i feel like a king. Wind in hair. Bugs in Teeth. And a bit of the weight taken off my mind for the coming week full of work. As I pull down the garage door, I give Couchette a pat on the seat and say 'good work'. I needed her to run well for the next day's test, which she did.
posted by creativisualist at 7:42 PM
4 Comments:
sounds idyllic..i think i need to get me a "wind in the hair" hobby!
how about running after finn anie?
Emphasis on the word 'Hobby', usually considered to be something optional and relaxing.
it could always be optional. there's always adoption.oh, i'm just kidding.
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