A glorious relief after a ride in the scorching heat of the afternoon sun.
My sister Diane, cooling off her feet which we did every chance we got. And then, before we left the water we would rip off our shirts and soak them in the water before putting them back on our backs and hitting the trail once more. This helped to keep us cool for a few more kilometers but in no time our shirts were dry again.
One of the many gates we had to open and cross and some of the animals we met on the farms. The Trans Canada Trail is adjacent to or crosses into many farmers land.
There goes the rest of my raw carrot snack. Three horses and a donkey took care of that in a hurry.
A close up of the old log home that I loved so much. Picturesque or what!
One of the many creeks we rode by or crossed over. There's nothing like running water to lift my spirits and give me a sense of well-being.
It doesn't look that high in the picture but we were way up high on the mountain ledge above Grand Forks here.
Off to an early morning start around 6 am to take advantage of the cooler air. A good idea especially on that particular morning when we were facing a fairly long climb before leveling off. Is it any wonder I had a hard time to keep up with these girls sometimes. They are almost twice my height! Not to mention bigger bikes.
I can't even remember where this shot was taken but it definitely captures more of the beauty we saw.
An old cart that was preserved. It was used to go up and down the railroad to check things out.
On a downward slope embraced by the warmth of the surrounding forest.
Friday, September 02, 2011
Episode Two
Some of you wanted more pictures. Here they are. These are the ones my sister took with her camera. Much better than the ones I took with my IPhone. Just looking at them now brings me back to the sense of challenge, peacefulness, and serenity I got from this experience. Double clicking on the pictures will give you a close up shot.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
My Kettle Valley Bike Trip
Here we are getting ready to leave at the beginning of our four day bike trip on the KVR (Kettle Valley Railbed) starting in Beverdell and going up to Castlegar. We drove 1.5 hours from Kelowna to reach our starting destination.
This is later the same day as we arrived at the Kettle River campground where we jumped into the river to cool down before once more heading down the trail.
Day two, taking a break for a drink of water before continuing our incline up the mountain.
Now had I been living back in those days I wish this could have been my place. In fact I wish it could still be my place.
Talk about picture perfect - complete with a creek running by the front door.
Riding the more desert land. The view below from the ridge we were on.
Entering one of the three caves we had to ride through. These are holes that were made right through the mountain for the train to pass through.
Over here we are entering the third tunnel which is 1 kilometer long and pitch black. We had to walk our bikes through this. Three of us had a small flashlight to help us find our way out.
Getting close to the outside entrance now. You can see our lights. Going through these my thoughts were with those miners from Chile who were trapped underground for such a long time. This was eerie enough for me. I can't imagine being stuck hundreds of feet below.
Close to the outside - the walls have been reinforced with huge beams.
This is the moss and the water that runs on the side of the walls just as we exit the cave. Beautiful to see.
A piece of the Trans Canada Trail that is flat and goes through a field.
Stopping for a break to stretch our legs and admire the scenery.
Riding above Arrow Lakes. We felt like we were on top of the world.
Lunch time. Every now and then there's a picnic table and an outhouse where people can stop and do what we're doing.
My bike which the other women christened "The Iron Horse" because it's a steel frame, very heavy, and had the wrong kind of tires for this kind of ride which meant I was working hard to get up those mountains.
It might not look that way in this picture but we are very high up here. Whenever someone else took a picture with my IPone for me they always stuck their fingers in the way.
We are on our decent into Castlegar here. On the last leg of our trip.
One of the dozen or so bridges that spans across the gorges and canyons.
Almost down to the end of our journey. I did get someone to snap a picture of us dismounting at the end but unfortunately it didn't turn out.
We travelled an average of 60 km a day. The weather was cool when we left at 6 in the morning but by afternoon it was excruciating hot. We were travelling in cougar and bear country but we took precautions and made lots of noise when the territory felt dangerous.
This is later the same day as we arrived at the Kettle River campground where we jumped into the river to cool down before once more heading down the trail.
Day two, taking a break for a drink of water before continuing our incline up the mountain.
Now had I been living back in those days I wish this could have been my place. In fact I wish it could still be my place.
Talk about picture perfect - complete with a creek running by the front door.
Riding the more desert land. The view below from the ridge we were on.
Entering one of the three caves we had to ride through. These are holes that were made right through the mountain for the train to pass through.
Over here we are entering the third tunnel which is 1 kilometer long and pitch black. We had to walk our bikes through this. Three of us had a small flashlight to help us find our way out.
Getting close to the outside entrance now. You can see our lights. Going through these my thoughts were with those miners from Chile who were trapped underground for such a long time. This was eerie enough for me. I can't imagine being stuck hundreds of feet below.
Close to the outside - the walls have been reinforced with huge beams.
This is the moss and the water that runs on the side of the walls just as we exit the cave. Beautiful to see.
A piece of the Trans Canada Trail that is flat and goes through a field.
Stopping for a break to stretch our legs and admire the scenery.
Riding above Arrow Lakes. We felt like we were on top of the world.
Lunch time. Every now and then there's a picnic table and an outhouse where people can stop and do what we're doing.
Another shot over the Arrow Lakes.
My bike which the other women christened "The Iron Horse" because it's a steel frame, very heavy, and had the wrong kind of tires for this kind of ride which meant I was working hard to get up those mountains.
It might not look that way in this picture but we are very high up here. Whenever someone else took a picture with my IPone for me they always stuck their fingers in the way.
We are on our decent into Castlegar here. On the last leg of our trip.
One of the dozen or so bridges that spans across the gorges and canyons.
Almost down to the end of our journey. I did get someone to snap a picture of us dismounting at the end but unfortunately it didn't turn out. 
We travelled an average of 60 km a day. The weather was cool when we left at 6 in the morning but by afternoon it was excruciating hot. We were travelling in cougar and bear country but we took precautions and made lots of noise when the territory felt dangerous. We met one bear but saw evidence of many others. We didn't meet up with any cats for which I was very grateful. We saw deer, fox, snakes, squirels, eagles, hawks, and rabbits in the wild. On the farms we saw horses, sheep, cows, lamas, and donkeys. It was a memorable trip. I would do it again in a flash but not with the same bike for sure.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Happy Birthday Kevin!
You didn’t think I would forget did you? You’ve been foremost in my mind - since last night actually. You would be 41 years old today. Happy Birthday son. I love you, as much today as the day you were born. You’ve been gone for 27 years and it doesn’t make a smidge of difference in how much I love you and still miss you. I can’t help but wonder every time your birthday comes around where your life would have led you had it been a longer one.
You know, you’ve been a great help to me lately. Your life and death and how I’ve lived through grief has taught me a lot more than any books or teachers could ever have. There’s no measurable time-line for grief, is what I’ve come to realize. It comes and goes like the wind blowing through one’s hair. There are days when the wind is barely noticeable, other times when it is stronger and on some days, the wind hurls around the corner with enough force to knock one off their feet. But, over time, the wind of grief is less powerful and less frequent and it doesn’t carry the impact it had in the beginning.
Here I am, 27 years after your death, still sending you birthday greetings across the cosmos. Will there ever come a time when I don’t do that? I doubt it very much. For as long as I am here, you will hear the echo of my Happy Birthday cheer.
Writing these words to you reminds me of some of my clients who have gone through the loss of a loved one, some in horrific ways and how after a 6 month or 1 year, employers, friends, and doctors feel it’s their duty to move these people along because they think they should be done with their grief by now. Things need to go back to normal and life needs to move on!
Sometimes I would like to shout at these people, “What the hell do you know?” Normal is not a word which makes sense to people who have lost someone who was a huge part of their life. Things can never be the same as they were and to try to convince a grieving person of that, is like trying to sell snow to and Eskimo. Then grieving people are told that life moves on. Uh, ya! They are very much aware that life moves on. In fact that is where a lot of their pain comes from. They see life keeping on as usual when inside they feel as if the world out there should have stopped because theirs’ has.
Clients come to me feeling harassed by family, friends, and doctors who want them to get on anti-depressants because they look at the calendar and they say “it’s been 6 months,” or “it’s been a year” and they tell them they should be back to “normal.” Hogwash! I hear stories like this and my insides feel like they’re dancing on a hot bed of coals.
Grief isn’t instantaneous enough to match our fast paced world. People think there needs to be a quick fix and that people should, get over it and get on with life. So another prescription for another bottle of anti-depressants is given to dull the pain, mask the symptoms. And if the person tosses and turns during the night, well there’s a pill for that as well - one which will knock you out and take your dreams away too. Armed with a fist full of pills, grieving people can step back into their life without disturbing or instilling fear in other members of society. who are petrified to feel anything more than a hiccup and therefore cannot be around people who are hurting.
Don’t get me wrong. There are times when medication is necessary and often helpful, depending what the circumstances are, but for God’s sake, please allow people time to grieve. Allow people to embrace their humanness and to feel.
You know, you’ve been a great help to me lately. Your life and death and how I’ve lived through grief has taught me a lot more than any books or teachers could ever have. There’s no measurable time-line for grief, is what I’ve come to realize. It comes and goes like the wind blowing through one’s hair. There are days when the wind is barely noticeable, other times when it is stronger and on some days, the wind hurls around the corner with enough force to knock one off their feet. But, over time, the wind of grief is less powerful and less frequent and it doesn’t carry the impact it had in the beginning.
Here I am, 27 years after your death, still sending you birthday greetings across the cosmos. Will there ever come a time when I don’t do that? I doubt it very much. For as long as I am here, you will hear the echo of my Happy Birthday cheer.
Writing these words to you reminds me of some of my clients who have gone through the loss of a loved one, some in horrific ways and how after a 6 month or 1 year, employers, friends, and doctors feel it’s their duty to move these people along because they think they should be done with their grief by now. Things need to go back to normal and life needs to move on!
Sometimes I would like to shout at these people, “What the hell do you know?” Normal is not a word which makes sense to people who have lost someone who was a huge part of their life. Things can never be the same as they were and to try to convince a grieving person of that, is like trying to sell snow to and Eskimo. Then grieving people are told that life moves on. Uh, ya! They are very much aware that life moves on. In fact that is where a lot of their pain comes from. They see life keeping on as usual when inside they feel as if the world out there should have stopped because theirs’ has.
Clients come to me feeling harassed by family, friends, and doctors who want them to get on anti-depressants because they look at the calendar and they say “it’s been 6 months,” or “it’s been a year” and they tell them they should be back to “normal.” Hogwash! I hear stories like this and my insides feel like they’re dancing on a hot bed of coals.
Grief isn’t instantaneous enough to match our fast paced world. People think there needs to be a quick fix and that people should, get over it and get on with life. So another prescription for another bottle of anti-depressants is given to dull the pain, mask the symptoms. And if the person tosses and turns during the night, well there’s a pill for that as well - one which will knock you out and take your dreams away too. Armed with a fist full of pills, grieving people can step back into their life without disturbing or instilling fear in other members of society. who are petrified to feel anything more than a hiccup and therefore cannot be around people who are hurting.
Don’t get me wrong. There are times when medication is necessary and often helpful, depending what the circumstances are, but for God’s sake, please allow people time to grieve. Allow people to embrace their humanness and to feel.
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