It was (close your ears Aunt Ruth) WTF Friday, full of suffering and surprises.

It began with suffering in Blue River. The temperature dipped to around freezing while Clive and I tried to sleep in a supposedly two-person tent. I wore four layers of clothing on my upper body, which was OK, but my sock-covered tootsies never warmed up. Getting in and out of the tent to assuage my nightly bladder needs was the usual chore but made more difficult by the tent being pitched on sand. (To alleviate some of those issues, I’ll buy a tent when we get to Jasper. I’d avoided getting one of my own because Brody had said I could use his while he slept outside. But the weather hasn’t been conducive to that and his wonky knee has him still in Kamloops where I left the tent for him to pick up.)

Making it more difficult to sleep were the train whistles, the big rigs rolling up and down the highway beside us riding their air brakes and, of course, our snoring. No bullfrogs though.

In the morning, we set off to reach Valemont, 90 kilometres away. The hills weren’t too dastardly but there were many of them. They just kept coming for the first 45 kilometres. My legs – which had already racked up more than 600 kilometres before the day had begun – had had enough and seemed to be yelling “Uncle” at me. I was hoping it was Brody trying to get my attention, but, alas it was my lower limbs that were yelping away in my head. To make matters worse, the trend of having crosswinds actually slowing us down on descents continued was becoming downright frustrating.

I’ve never understood why some people routinely use lip balm. Well those crosswinds dried out my lips something fierce. That was a minor bit of suffering, but just as I noticed that minuscule annoyance the surprises started arriving.

Nice surprises, that is.

Besides the sun coming on strong, when we got to the halfway point we needed to find a place to eat lunch. Well, there’s absolutely nothing between Blue River and Valemont, so we had to improvise. I stopped short of a bridge that seemed to have an inkling of potential. I could hear the sounds of a rushing water – although this time of the year in this neck of the woods swollen creeks are ubiquitous. I checked it out and Dominion Creek had pounding rapids rushing through stone and tree-filled banks flowing fast as it passed under the highway.

So I sat down on a rock and began to munch away on my grilled chicken sub from the Rocky Mountain Deli in Blue River, enjoy the view and wait for Clive to arrive.

Although impromptu and not a regular rest spot this tiny creekside spot started to change the day around. When Clive came he began eating his roast beef sub a few rocks away and that’s when I noticed we were right on top of a Kinder Morgan pipeline. Lunch was on Kinder Morgan, so to speak. But it certainly wasn’t free! The view was, though.

The second half of the trip into Valemont went smoother than the first thanks to more downhill than up. We got into town about mid-afternoon and began contemplating pushing on another 20 kilometres to Téte Jaune Cache, where Highway 5 meets Highway 16, which is more commonly called The Yellowhead Highway.

Although we were tired it seemed a good idea because it was still early and it would cut some time off the expected 120 kilometre journey to Jasper we’d scheduled for Saturday. An extremely competent and pleasant young woman at the Valemont visitors bureau advised us of a campground to check out when we got there.

First, however, we detoured to the IGA in Downtown Valemont to pick up some grub for the next day’s lunch. And lip balm.

Even though we were tired the trip to Tête Jaune Cache was quick and pleasant. We rolled up to the Tête Jaune Cache Lodge. It looked like most in-the-middle-of-nowhere motels – the Bates Motel model so to speak. But what we got was a small-sized, cottage-country style experience.

This time instead of a campground, we took a cabin that is basically bunk beds, mud room and a porch for just $20 more than we’ve been paying to suffer by pitching a tent.

We knew there was a restaurant attached but figured it was the typical roadside gas station restaurant.

Well, when we meandered down the hill toward the banks of the Mighty Fraser River we began to realize this just might be a much better spot to eat than we ever expected. It was a quaint little rustic eatery with a modern patio with unbelievable views of Simon’s waterway, the forest, a neat little wooden bridge and mountains, and more mountains.

We were greeted by a red-faced, rolly-polly guy in a chef’s hat and apron. It turns out since the motel won’t be hiring any other staff for the summer season until Mother’s Day, he was the maitre-d, the server, the cashier and the cook, although it did appear he had a kitchen helper in the back. Although it seemed like he was walking around in a flurry, constantly flustered forgetting this and forgetting that. But, somehow, he managed to get the job done. He was a hoot to watch in action.

The menu offered up many interesting possibilities beyond a banal burger, clubhouse sandwich or turkey and mashed potatoes with gravy. When he brought out two impressive pizzas for a table of four it caught our eye.

We kind of looked at each other and thought, ‘No way. Those look delicious.’

Along with a local craft beer, Clive ordered up a Canadian Rocky Mountain Burger (or something to that effect) which would have matched or surpassed anything found at a gourmet burger restaurant. I asked for the Fettuccini Jambalaya. It was plentiful and put to shame Boston Pizza’s version of the dish. It was spicy, tasty and plentiful. It was goooood!

Then we hit the showers for another shock. A pleasant one, not an electrical one. Unlike the previous campground showers, most built in the 1960s before building codes came into force, this one was big, modern and bright with lots of room to maneuvre. They even had towel bath mats for us to use to soothe are sore feet as we emerged from the hot shower.

So now it’s on to Jasper. We’re told, just like Friday, there will be plenty of hills to climb through Mount Robson Provincial Park and on into the national park.

Great. More suffering.

But then again, that’s what we signed up for. Surely it will serve up some surprises too. It’s all part of an epic journey of a lifetime … or at least of an early retirement bucket list.

Kilometre count

Grant (Day 7 trip, Day 6 riding): 113 km. Trip total: 725

Clive: (Day 4 trip, Day 4 riding) 113 km. Trip total: 447