Dinner in Stehekin, l to r, Dragon Ant, Stilts, Gopher, Sweet Fish, Alden, Lost (me), Truant, Hearsay

On Monday morning, I went to the post office in Stehekin to discover an empty package with my name on it.  Since my mail drop had been FedExed, it had been left in the lobby.  Someone had opened it up and taken all of the food.  All that was left were 2 letters.  One from my mother and one from my sister.  Luckily my friends came to my rescue.  Truant gave me some of her homemade trail mix, Sweet Fish gave me a couple of granola bars, Hearsay gave me an entire bag of chex mix and Dragon Ant gave me crackers.  I was able to get the rest of the food I needed from Stehekin’s convenient store.  The disappointment I felt from having been robbed was replaced by gratitude for having such good friends.

“Now this I have to see” the bus driver said as he handed me down my pack.  I had bought an apple pie at the bakery in Stehekin and was planning on packing it out.  “I bet you that thing doesn’t last one night.”  The bus driver joked.  I carefully placed the pie at the top of my pack.  It was surprisingly heavy and I knew the man was right.

The eight of us had taken the 11 o’clock bus back to the trail and hiked in an enormous conga line.  The trail took us past some delicious thimble berries which slowed us down a good deal.  We spotted a black bear enjoying the same tasty treat.  It was dusk by the time we made Rainy Pass.  We all pitched our tents and sat in a quiet circle enjoying dinner and yes, pie.

The following day brought snow up high and freezing rain in the lower elevations.  No one complained about the weather though.  The trip was almost over and we knew that in a few weeks we’d be stuck at desks and in classrooms and would give anything to be back here; back free in the freezing cold wintry wild.  So we savored every icy view, every windy blast and even every painful step.

Stilts, Dragon Ant, Alden and I had a plan.  There was rumored to be a Yurt hidden by the pass where we were planning on camping and we were determined to find it.  Dragon Ant spotted it from a distance and we took out our maps to figure out where it was.  After coming to something of an agreement we continued on.  It was about a ten minute walk off the trail but we found it just fine.

The Yurt was raised high above the ground and there were new wooden steps up to it.  Alden walked up first and we followed anxiously, knowing full well that the door might be locked.  It wasn’t.  About five minutes later a furious rain started beating down on the canvas roof.  We were very happy to be inside.  We ate dinner in our sleeping bags and slept soundly not quite believing that our walk was about to conclude.  25 miles stood between us and the Canadian border; only 25 miles until the end.

We awoke to a steady rain and joked about taking a zero day right there.  I started walking at 6:30 and the day flew by.  We all separated around lunch time.  I ended up eating down in a valley 7 miles from the border.  A man who was camped at a nearby lake wandered by.  He asked me where I was coming from.  “Mexico” seemed like a million years ago.  “You’re early” he said.  I laughed to hear those words.  Down south I had continuously been told “you’re late” since I had started half a month after most hikers do, so this was good to hear.

The final seven miles of the trail were all down hill and down I went.  After about two hours I saw a group of four heading south “the border’s just around the corner” one of them said.  I smiled and I ran.  Down around the corner and there it was.  In a valley next to a long straight clear cut.  Canada.  The line I had been hiking towards for 109 days.  The sight I had been dreaming of since Mexico.  Stilts was there waiting and we gave each other a victorious high five.  Just like at the Mexican border, there is a PCT monument at the Canadian Border.  I sat down on my sleeping mat across from the structure and stared at it for a little while, trying to absorb the fact that we had just walked from Mexico to Canada.  It is difficult to believe that trail that took me through the brutal desert heat, up the impossibly tall passes, and through the raging river fords was this same quiet trail that I sat by now.  Dragon Ant, and then Gopher and finally Alden came.  Big smiles.  A few tears.  We took pictures and lingered.

We hiked into Manning Park that evening and had one last dinner together.  We then celebrated our accomplishment with microwaved s’mores at the lodge.  Saying goodbye is not easy.  No one ever said it would be.  After you cross the Canadian Border, things change quickly.  We were all rocketed back to our places in the world.  Back to be carpenters and lawyers and students.  The homesickness begins to fade after a little while.  You get used to sleeping in a bed and getting back to your old schedule.  You can take comfort in your memories and in the fact that for 4 months you lived.  And you lived deep.

Damn skippy I’m eating vegan pizza at 7:51 AM MST! After my AM, self-imposed, kick-butt sessions, I sometimes indulge in faux cheesy goodness and take in a couple pieces of pie.

Boulder is one of most healthy and active cities in the country and I truly enjoy being a member. Yes - I occasionally eat pizza in the morning, and come to think of it ice cream too, but at the core, I am a health nut. I have a regular exercise routine and feeding schedule. I look to these chiseled, toned, determined bodies around me for inspiration. This community runs, cycles, climbs and swims right past fast foods and eats spinach, apples, edamame and sustainable fish at the organic grocer.

As I’m about to pledge my undying loyalty to this great city and launch into a rendition of “What a Wonderful World”, I discover this super-star community that breeds Olympic athletes is not the Eden I so blindly hoped for.

Meet Boulderite Diane Israel; she’s a former triathlete and marathoner. I recently caught her speaking on Colorado Matters and was dismayed by what I heard. I expected Israel to sing praises for the mile high training grounds. Israel instead spoke about exercise bulimia - a rare psychological disorder in which a person purges through an excessive amount of physical activity. It is a disorder that effects many of the athletes in Boulder. Israel documents this condition in her film Beauty Mark.

Distorted body image is not a new topic. It has been simultaneously belabored and encouraged by the media for the past however many years. The new concern that Israel points out is that filter we applied solely to the print, video, and film world now expands into every day life. The race to be the fastest, thinnest, best, athlete in Boulder can so consume the mind it turns into a detrimental lifestyle.

As the walls of athletic inspiration begin to crash down around me, I realize that I run, cycle, climb and swim because it’s fun. I may never run an ultra-marathon. I may never kayak in Malaysia. But I will continue to be motivated by those around me that do. I will add an extra mile on my run. I will kayak somewhere in Colorado. And, most importantly, I will continue to eat that occasional slice of AM pizza and finish with a side of ice cream. That is a breakfast of champions.

A couple of days after the heat waves’ burst, the rain returned.  Cold rain.  Hand numbing rain.  Luckily I was closing in on Steven’s Pass so I was able to continue along cheerfully with the knowledge that by night fall, I would be dry.  I was so eager to get into town that I practically ran for the last few miles.  It took me about 20 minutes to get a ride down.

There is an Inn in the town of Skykomish but thru-hikers rarely stay there thanks to the hospitality of the Dinsmores.  Jerry and Andrea Dinsmore have been taking hikers into their home for years.  They let complete strangers use their shower, eat at their table and sleep above their garage.  One phone call and a quick ride later brought me to this heaven.  Their hospitality was overwhelming.  The second I walked into the door, Andrea showed me where I could find a clean set of clothes so that I could put mine in the wash, and then let me take a hot shower.  When I came out, warm and dry, she heated up a delicious bowl of chili and toast.  I could not eat half of the food she put in front of me.  A few hours later Alden, Stilts, Truant and Sweet Fish along with Hearsay had showed up.  We stayed up late sitting in the Dinsmore’s armchairs, laughing and listening to the rain beat against the garage roof.

The weather report for the next two days was very disheartening.  Jerry Dinsmore told us we’d be crazy to hike out now.  That was all the encouragement we needed to make the decision to rest there for two more days.  We played cards, feasted on barbequed food and cup cakes that Sweet Fish made.  Another thru-hiker, Dragon Ant, showed up that afternoon as well.  We all went on a road trip into town to see a movie and enjoy dessert at Dairy Queen.  Being in a town is like being on vacation for a thru-hiker.  Cars, running water, and thermostats seem like incredible luxuries but after two days of rest we still found ourselves itching to get back to the woods.

The following day we were off by 6:30am.  It was still raining and we were all a little sad to be leaving the friendly Dinsmores, but the weather report promised an end to the bad weather by 11am.   We hiked in a cold, wet conga line.  At 10:30 Dragon Ant looked at his watch “only a half an hour of rain left” he said.  It did not stop raining until 7pm.  We covered 30 miles with only one break and camped by an alpine lake.  I was too restless for much sleep and ended up setting off the second a hint of light appeared in the east.

Glacier Peak Wilderness is something of a challenge for thru-hikers.  A couple of years ago, heavy rains devastated the area.  There are miles and miles of blow downs and an enormous washout by Milk Creek.  In the past, hikers have taken a re-route, but while we were staying at the Dinsmores, we were informed that following the original PCT was a better bet.  It is shorter and the forest service has fixed up all but twenty miles of trail.  So, we decided to take the original route without any idea of the adventure that was in store for us.

Dragon Ant, Stilts, Alden and I had plans to pitch our tents at a site about a mile before Milk Creek.  What we did not know, was that this area had also been carried away by the washout.  You can imagine my surprise when I arrived at the washout around dusk and the trail dropped off the edge of the world.  Dragon Ant and I had gotten a bit ahead and hadn’t seen Stilts and Alden since lunch so we made a decision to follow the washout down to the river which we knew the trail would cross.  And so we continued down, down, down.  Had it not been dusk, we probably would have been able to see that this was a bad idea.  The washout became increasingly steep and wet until it was completely impassable.  We started bush whacking.

Devils club.  I cannot identify many plants, but this one I will not soon forget.  Its little thorns tore at us as we fell through the dark.  The growth was so thick that it took us forever just to move ten feet.  We desperately scraped our way through, taking turns leading.  After all light was completely gone and coming to a close call by a precipice, we decided we’d have to make camp.  Luckily we found a tiny clearing.  The ground was not flat but there was just enough space for us to lay our sleeping mats out.  “We can make it a bit homier” Dragon Ant said, and we pushed aside a few sticks and pine cones.  Neither of us slept very well that night.  We were worried about having trouble finding the trail again but we were both very thankful to have company.  We tried to make light of the situation.  “They’ll have to add this new established campsite to the guide book . . . only for the hardy.” Dragon Ant joked.  We noticed the stars and did not talk about the predicament we were in.

The sun woke us up early the next morning and we discovered navigation to be much easier in the daylight.  We got closer and closer to the river and then stumbled upon a strange sight.  Footprints.  Not the sort of thing you’d expect to see in the middle of nowhere.  They led us to a rough trail that went straight to the river and up to an abandoned forest service tent.  A few minutes of upstream scrambling finally brought us to the trail.  We were so relieved and happy we gave each other triumphant high fives, inadvertently waking up the occupants of two tents we had not spotted.  It was Stilts and Alden!  Who had had similar misadventures the previous night but had finally made it down to the river just after midnight.  We were all very relieved to be re-united.

The rest of the day was a struggle through overgrown trail and over enormous blow downs, some of which were so large, you wouldn’t have been able to see a person standing on the other side.  Our Glacier Peak Wilderness experience culminated with the Suattle River Crossing.  The bridge over this river had been wiped out two years earlier and the only way to cross the rapid white waters is to balance over a blow down.  We all made it alive and were very glad to have the worst behind us.

After such a brutal section of trail we all had the same idea in our heads but Stilts was the first to say it out loud “lets just go. . . you know, all the way to town.”  It was dinner time and we still had about 15 miles until the road but all we wanted was to be sitting in Stehekin’s famous bakery, resting our poor bodies and feasting.  And so we walked into the night.  The trail was nearly all gradual down hill and we flew through the dark.  The first hour of night hiking is always the same.  Exhilarating.  Your senses come alive because you need them.  But then the second hour comes and you start to tire and by the third you are more of a machine than a human being.  You are too tired to think and your feet automatically take you where you need to go.

We stopped at the last campsite before the road and fell asleep instantly.  The next morning the ranger at the station in Stehekin gave us a ride to the bakery where our dreams were fulfilled.  Stilts and Dragon Ant had one of nearly everything the bakery was selling and I ate a cinnamon roll as big as my face.  It was a great start to a great day.

Many thru-hikers praise Stehekin as their favorite trail town.  It can only be reached by foot or ferry and all that you can find there is a lodge, a convenient store, and of course, the bakery.  Sweet Fish, Truant, Alden and Hearsay made it to town that afternoon.  It was a Sunday so we had to wait to pick up our mail drops from the post office the next day.  Stilts and Dragon Ant had disappeared for a little while and when they returned they said “Lost, we have a surprise for you.”  And around the corner walked my good friend Gopher, who I had met while hiking the Appalachian Trail last year.  I knew that he was hiking the PCT this year but he had started with the herd, ½ a month before me so I was not expecting to see him.  It was wonderful to see an old friend.  All 8 of us enjoyed dinner together at the lodge that evening.  The main topic of conversation was what everyone would be doing after the trail.  Butterflies were in our stomachs.  There were only 3 days left until we reached Canada.

Soon after Goat Rocks, the trail plummets down to White Pass, the next re-supply point.  It is a tiny gas station that accepts hiker packages free of charge.  Stilts, Alden, Sweet Fish, Truant and I all arrived there around the same time.  We rummaged through our mail drops, traded a few items, and stuffed our empty stomachs with gas station food.  Somehow we ended up spending a total of five glorious hours there.  We left feeling full and rested.

Washington surprised us with a heat wave over the next few days.  We sweated our way past tourists joking that we could “smell the public coming”- we could smell their laundry detergent that is.  I’d rather not know their impression of us as it had been well over a week since any of us had had the opportunity to bathe.

The night before arriving at Snoqualmie, I had plans to camp at a Weather Station that, according to my guide book, had running water and camping.  Sadly, it disappointed me on both accounts.  It had been a long day so I decided to continue on and camp on the first semi flat piece of land I could find.  I ended up sleeping on the middle of a hillside power line clear cut.  Stilts, who was also exhausted, joined me at this sideways campsite and a little while later, Sweet Fish and Alden appeared.  We started discussing plans for town the next day and it was quickly decided that we would split a room at the lodge in Snoqualmie.  We exchanged our “real” names so that the first to arrive could leave a message for the rest at the front desk.  It was an odd moment.  Sitting there in the dark, learning the names of people I had been hiking with for over a week.  Friendships grow fast on the trail.  Social barriers collapse and maybe a few manners along with them but you learn who you are and know the people traveling on the trail with you for who they are; profession, age, and education aside.

After blazing through Oregon, arriving in Washington was a bit of a relief.  My plans were to slow down and enjoy my last couple of weeks on the trail.  To enter the final state of the PCT, the trail crosses the Columbia River on the Bridge of the Gods and then spends the next few miles climbing.  Normally, a big climb after a re-supply would be dreaded, but luckily I only had to carry 1 day of food with me until the next re-supply point: Stabler’s Country Store.  I hiked out in the evening and set up camp on a bare ridge where the town’s lights were visible from.  Just as I was getting settled in, I spotted lightening in the distance.  I reluctantly decided to pack up and push on to a more protected spot.  The second I stood up and put my pack on, it started to rain.  “Welcome to Washington” I thought.

The next morning I woke up and started walking early.  It normally takes me at least an hour of zombie like walking to become completely alert, so when I turned a corner to find a man sleeping under an ornate comforter, surrounded by suitcases on wheels, at first I did not believe my eyes.  I stood there for a moment taking in the scene.  The man continued to sleep.  Not wanting to disturb this interesting character, I tiptoed off feeling a bit confused.  When I reached Stabler’s Country Store I saw two worn packs propped up against a bench.  A few seconds later, their owners appeared.  Stilts and Sweet Fish who were also thru-hiking.  They too had met “Luggage Man.”  Apparently he was traveling to “the next town” and had simply never taken to the ultra light hiking philosophy.  “Whatever floats your boat” Sweet Fish laughed.

After a phone call home to Mom and Dad I hiked out of Stablers’ with Sweet Fish who it turns out is a great person to walk with.  He is a mechanic from New Hampshire and is filled with stories of all the amazing people he has met on his hike.  He is also something of a hitch hiking connoisseur and has never had to wait very long for a ride.  We ended up camping at a water source where we found Stilts and two other thru-hikers who I had not yet met: Alden and Truant.  Alden is hiking the PCT for a second time and Truant recently graduated from law school.  We sat in a circle around an empty fire ring eating dinner and laughing.  It was good to be with people again.

Real rain came the next day.  I kept telling myself it would stop in a few minutes so, by the time I gave up on this illusion and finally put on my rain gear, I was pretty wet.  The problem with rain is that it makes taking breaks very unpleasant.  The good thing about rain is that it forces you to get wherever you’re going fast.  I made it 30 miles to a decent campsite before 5 pm and decided to stop there.  It was the earliest I had stopped in a while.  Alden and Stilts showed up and decided to camp in the same spot.  We spent a lazy evening chatting.  Mostly about food and then laughed that “food talk” probably makes up about 75% of the conversation thru-hikers have.

Over the next few days, the trail wandered north up into the Goat Rocks Wilderness.  After over 2,000 miles of walking, it takes a lot to make a hikers jaw drop, but the views from this wilderness did just that.  The trail climbs steeply to the bare ridge of Old Snowy, dives across the mountain to another ridge and then follows it for miles.  There was something about the way the earth dropped off so quickly on either side, something about how the wind soared past the angled rocks that woke me up.  I let out a victorious whoop and threw my hands into the air.  There was no question about it.  I was alive.

Just imagine moving from the Midwest to LA. I spent two years in the valley. Yes. That valley. Like I was a valley girl, OK? Coming from the mitten state, it was quite the adventure. In LA, they had triathlons: you could get a mani, pedi and waxing all in one spot. I could backpack with the latest oversized Marc Jacob’s bag. And camping was as easy as hanging out under heat lamps at the Roosevelt Hotel! Wow. Sandwiched between desert, ocean and mountains, SoCal was “like sooo not” the adventure that I had hoped for.

I just had this preconceived notion of LA; the people were super healthy and active. The women all had raw vegan diets and easily shimmied into a size 2 Vivienne Westwood ensemble. They jogged along the Santa Monica coast and saved beached whales. Not the case. A three step process of lipo, cleanse and repeat seemed to be the way to supposed good health in that concrete jungle.

Then there was Boulder. Ahh Boulder! I had previously been to Boulder for snowboarding and fell in love with their progressive ideals and call to the wild. The women out here were a completely different breed than that of LA and Detroit. These women wore shorts in the 30 degree weather of March! I was scared, intrigued and challenged.

My move to Colorado meant a move to new adventures, real adventures, welcome adventures. I went out on my 5AM trail runs and was shocked to discover I was the only one out at that hour. I was in disbelief that my peers did not fathom the idea of waking early to climb before work that started at 11AM. And how could it possibly be that these super-buff 50+ year old women enjoyed a couple of beers every evening?

I was disenchanted with LA and Boulder when the reality of the city became everyday. No longer were they magical, mythical cities; they were the norm - human - real. Now, as I drive north over the 36 and peer into the valley of Boulder, I can’t help but remember my drive over the 405 back into Burbank. How different these two cities are. How different they are from what I expected.

I always felt like I was missing out on something living in Michigan. I thought real adventure could only be found in the wild west. It always seemed like there was the BBD (bigger, better, deal) someplace other than where I was at. Maybe I’m overlooking how daring it is to just pack-up your bags and leave the state you grew-up in. Maybe I just didn’t find my surfer group in LA. Maybe I’m trailing running in the wrong locations. I’m beginning to realize that cities are what you make them. And maybe adventure is the same.

Seems like our September/October Roar interview with Sarah Palin stirred up strong emotions from our readers. Take a look and see what all the fuss is about and click here to read the full article.

First of all it’s great hearing from you! I’m enjoying the dialogue with each and every one of you and am digesting all that you have to say about our recent ROAR interview with Sarah Palin. Our magazine chose to print this interview because we thought Sarah Palin was an extremely interesting woman and because the issue of drilling in her state is so controversial. While we had no idea she would be placed on the Republican ticket, we thought our readers would want to know what kind of woman gets to be the first female governor of the last frontier.

After the nomination came out, I was actually excited that our readers would get to hear something she had said verbatim before getting coached by her party on how to handle the media. Information is education. Education is power. Educated individuals get to make informed decisions. We did not attempt to skew her words in the article or infer any political allegiance to the Republican party. The article should not be construed to represent the views of any individual at Women’s Adventure. It doesn’t even represent the views of the interviewer (Melissa DeVaughn). It’s Sarah Palin. In her own words. And it might make you love her or hate her, but at least you get to decide.

And, now on a personal note…I thought the article made it even clearer that I wouldn’t vote for her and I didn’t like that she was couching her views on drilling and responsible hunting as part of her respectful love of the land. I’m liberal, left-wing. I don’t care for some of her evangelical values. I like that she’s Alaska’s first female governor, that she’s behind helping special needs kids, and that she really is an avid outdoorswoman. I don’t like that she hunts for sport (whether she uses all the parts or not). I like her glasses. I think she did an amazing job speaking at the RNC. All that said. I’m still voting for Obama. I encourage you to make your voices known too by joining our forum.

I’ve never been camping overnight by myself.  I’ve never even hiked by myself.  There’s always some other hiker around, or, better yet, a poor, ill-prepared friend that I dragged along with me.   I realize these statements give me just about zero street “cred” in a city with mountain climbers that made the summit of Everest.

Therefore, in an attempt to begin earning my Colorado stripes, I decided to go hiking before sunrise and slowly start breaking into the upper echelons of the Boulder elite.  Even on a simple hike, it’s funny how the mind goes into some pseudo survival mode.  I actually started noticing those signs that warn about bears and mountain lions - those animals that could take you out with one swipe of the paw.

This got me thinking about the Chupacabra video I watched on CNN.  Yes - if CNN did a video and posted it online - that must mean it’s real!  That little creature, that Chupacabra, looked part pit bull and part boar.  I was the proud mama of a pit bull for eight years and immediately felt some sort of mothering instinct when I saw the Chupacabra video.

Never the less, I really didn’t want to run into one.  I fell into the gentle “grind-grind” of my shoes on the gravel when all of a sudden, some dark creature rushes 15 feet in front of me!  At that moment, I swear what I saw was a cross between the Chupacabra, Frank in “Donnie Darko,” and the wolf in “The Never Ending Story.”

I kept telling myself, “It’s cool.  It’s totally cool.  It’s too small to be a bear.  Well, maybe it was a cub.  Great.  Now, I have to keep an eye out for the mom.”  I walk up the 15 feet and look to the east side of the trail and what do I see?  It’s a mama deer with her baby.  Wow.  I’m not getting any cred in Boulder so far.  With my Chupacabra scare safely behind me, I press on and get to the top of the trail.  It’s a spectacular view over my new home.

I’m glad to be alone with my thoughts and start wondering why am I out here?  What is it inside that pushes me?  Why wasn’t running a 5K enough?  Why were 1/2 marathons the next logical step?  Why wasn’t hanging in Detroit enough?  I mean, come on, Detroit . Have you walked through that city at night?  I got some cred there!   Here I was, overlooking Boulder and ready for the next adventure.  I did Mt. Whitney with my brother and sister-in-law and I was itching to get back up in some altitude.  Hopefully, the next summit would be on my own.

I started coming down the trail.  The sun was up.  Other people were now out hiking.  I got into the car and flipped on the radio.  The morning newscast was discussing the tense situation between Georgia and Russia.  It was a slap in the face - a wake-up call to the world in which I live.  This was why I went hiking before sunrise.  It was a moment to escape.  A moment to let my imagination run wild.  A moment to appreciate that I can hike.  These moments of adventure are a way to unplug, reset and then dive back into a frantic world with a fresh perspective.

Each year, Bike Parks BC (www.bikeparksbc.com), gives away a special week of mountain biking at their spectacular British Columbia resorts. Two women were awarded trips this year, Wendy Morriseau of Nanaimo, BC, Canada, and Sue McBride of Palo Alto, CA, USA. We heard from Wendy just recently about her awesome trip.

I will not forget opening the e-mail from Bike Parks BC announcing “Congratulations Wendy, you have won the 2008 Ultimate Road Trip”, and the excitement leading up July 26th departure, reminded me being a kid at Christmas. I was about to experience the best week of mountain biking in 13 years of my riding experience, as the icing on my cake.

My riding-buddy Brenda and I were picked up at Kelowna International Airport, in the Okanagan of beautiful British Columbia. We met the crew (all guys, I might add) that we would be sharing the next seven days. Hmm, an interesting group, that’s for sure.

We had a seven-hour trip ahead of us to Panorama Mountain Village, located in the very eastern regions of BC, so to break up the long trek we stopped at the Enchanted Forest, near the Three Valley Gap and Revelstoke. We knew a fun time would be had for a bunch of 29 – 46 year-olds visiting this BC attraction of nursery rhyme themes and childhood memories.

Our team arrived at Panorama late in the evening and settled in for the night, but up bright and early to have breakfast and head out riding the next day. Panorama’s trail system is set up for beginners to advanced riders with breathtaking views where they say you can see 1000 Peaks from the top of the park. The mountain is geared for the whole family with resort activities that include waterslides, swimming pools, hot tubs, hiking along with biking.

We got to ride Marin Quake XLTs, courtesy of Shaums March of MMR Bike Camps and Marin Bikes and we had Opio packs, which we got to keep as souvenirs of our prize week.

From our first few laps down the mountain, we soon discovered that we all loved to ride the same technical trails with jumps and drops included. I’m sure we impressed the boy and I know my riding skills improved that day. Yours would too, with world reigning down-hill masters champ, Shaums March riding behind, coaching you on how and what you should be doing all the way down the trail. I know, from my Ultimate Road Trip experience, I became a more skilled rider. We finished the day with beers and grins all around.

We moved on to tame Kicking Horse Mountain Resort up the highway near Golden, BC. Kicking Horse is a mountain in progress, geared for more for the intermediate to advanced rider, but with the hard work of the trail crew, it won’t be long until all levels of rider enjoy it. We had a very warm welcome from the Copper Horse Lodge, it’s still a small emerging destination but shares a big resort heart with all its guest.

We arrived to find the gondola had been hit by lighting the night before and was out of action, but being VIP visitors, permission to shuttle to the top 7,700 feet was easily granted. Wow, we had Kicking Horse Mountain to ourselves with a guide thrown in to show us the best way down. Who could ask for more?

The riding it Kicking Horse was sweet from steep to flow and alpine to forest. I rode ramps and steeps I know I would not have attempted before this trip. I was stoked with the level of riding that I had achieved in two days and we still had four days of riding to go. This bike park’s my favorite place to ride on the tour, so far.

The gondola was fixed and running the next day. After a visit with Boo, the resident grizzly bear, and a lost flip-flop off the chair (it was recovered by one of our guides) we geared up for another day at Kicking Horse.

Our first run down, Shaums coached us with a lot of sessioning on the dirt jumps; definitely not one of my comfortable skills. By the time that said and done, all Brenda and I wanted to do was ride. We stopped for a short lunch and proceeded to ride for the rest of the afternoon. The guys had quit after three laps but the girls had the flow going and we rode until the lift stopped, completing six full laps! This all followed with a tour of the hot tub with our fun group, leading to a big night of pints and shooters….enough said.

It was a slow, lazy morning and after breakfast we had the privilege of being shuttled to the top of Mount 7. This is where the “Mt 7 Psychosis” race is held. So with some sore heads we decided to take the easier route down and then joined up with the Psychosis racecourse. This is must-do return visit for next summer.

Our next Ultimate Road Trip mountain destination was Silver Star Mountain Resort, above Vernon back in BC’s semi-arid Okanagan, arriving late in the afternoon. A brief meeting with the resort manager and presentation of Silver Star Mountain season sasses (this means we can come back later this season) we were off to enjoy a great dinner. All this riding and touring meant we were tired and ready to check in for the night at The Snowbird. Each room has its own king-size beds, kitchen, and a hot tub on the deck!
We were very keen to ride here and put all our new technical skills to the test. We rode hard and fast all day, with grins from ear to ear as we raced to catch the last chair at 4.30pm. An afternoon recap including a few drinks with my new friends, followed by two hours of intense paintball with a group of guys full of testosterone was a great way to wrap our day. Girls or no girls - I know we challenged the men.

The next day (# 6 of riding) the girls were up and ready to ride, and we hit Silver Star’s trails. The boys (we called them the girls as we were always waiting for them) were taking too much time so Brenda and I hit the lifts to do a couple of warm up laps. We finally hooked up with the crew and blasted through the day. What a thrill to be riding with the best in the sport and being a woman of 46 who has now ridden all the Bike Parks in BC, this has been an amazing adventure for me. We finished off the evening with a beautiful meal.

Saturday was our final day with a relaxing breakfast with the crew and a review of our awesome week, we are then off to the airport with goodbyes to all of my new friends.

I encourage all women bikers to go ride in the Bike Parks of BC, young or old. Mountain biking is my passion and to be a winner of the 2008 Ultimate Road Trip was a once in a lifetime experience that I will never forget. I’m still grinning!

Wendy Morisseau
Nanaimo, BC
Canada