Jen's Journal

Weekend Warrior Trip

220km of wicked riding:

C.Ford and I left Creston Saturday morning and ripped along the East Shore of Kootenay Lake in the warm sunshine. The worst part of the day was the last ascent from the BOB, (big orange bridge) to Dad's place.

Day two started out with overcast skies and ended with us dismounting the bikes looking like we had just stepped out of a shower. From Fruitvale into Trail, (~25km), the skies absolutely opened up and drenched us completely. I don't remember the last time I got so stuck in such a torrential rain showers, (oh wait, Ireland). Sigh, got to love the ride.

Deep Lake WA

Below is the route of my longest ride I have had in 2008. Yesterday T and I headed down to Northport for a rip out to Deep Lake. Crossing the border was no problem and the ride was beautiful.

Although it wasn't a sandwich, the post ride $5.25 cheeseburger and $2.00 bottle of beer at the Whitebird Tavern were a nice touch. Man do I enjoy the states.

Saturday Night in Trail

A New Year, More Sandwiches and a Polar Bear

2008 is upon us and for a pre-New Year celebration the McLeans hit Red Mountain for a day of skiing, rocks, twigs and of course gas station sandwiches. Here are a couple shots of us famished skiers devouring or lunch snack up at the Paradise Lodge.

Dad took the Reuben, Cam was munching on the BLT and I was scarfing down a Chicken Caesar. These were from the Warfield Shell station, a.k.a. the best sub-sandwiches in the Trail/Rossland area.

]]> Once I dragged Dad out of Rafter's, (the apres-ski bar-man was he guzzling those pitchers, or was that me???), I showered up and went on an adventure of a New Year's Eve. Myself and about 60 other people hiked their weary asses up Monte Christo Mountain. The climb from Lower Rossland, (elv ~1000m), up to the summit, (elv ~1250m) was just enough to make me thirsty for some hot apple cider. There was music, a bonfire, GTs and of course copious piles of fireworks to greet 2008.

This a.m. I did the unthinkable and plunged into the roaring Columbia River. The ambient air temperature was a cool -4 C, and the water was reportedly 3C. Here is a photo of Chris, Heather and myself relishing in our victory.

I figured in doing the dip this the year can only get better from here. I am hoping to get a photo of us actually doing the plunge. I was, as always, dressed in my supergirl attire complete with my silver sneakers.

The Open-Faced Christmas Sandwich

I had a bad day on Saturday December 22nd 2007. It should have been a good day given that it was my first day up at Red Mountain on my new skis, there was fresh snow, there were minimal people out and I was skiing with a good friend. It wasn’t. First run I hit a rock, popped my ski and then spent the next hour and a half trekking through waste deep, baseless powder to find the damn thing. In the end we didn’t even find it, some guy who lost his ski 50 yards down the hill noticed a ski-like object harpooned into a snowbank. I could have kissed the man.

I did a couple more runs, gouged another chunk of the ski off, (this time a core-shot), and decided that it was go time. My feet were near frozen as I had forgotten my ski boots in the car the night before and my hands were having sympathy pains toward the other extremities. We pack up and headed to The Grind in Rossland for some substance that wasn’t Rafter’s World Famous Nachos. It was here I decided that the day should end right now, and as a secondary thought… this upcoming year should and would be The Year of the Sandwich.

]]> I have been told I am neglectful of this website, and I am. I know of a few loyal viewers that do read it when I am updating it on a regular bases. The problem is I am now living a pretty average life, day to day at work, weekends and evenings doing the routine things; groceries, exercise, reading and life. I can’t really image that there is anything really worthwhile to write about. By introducing the Year of the Sandwich I will kill two birds with one stone and document my sandwich intake for the upcoming year and be able to subtly tell anyone who cares the little isms that are happening in my day-to-day life.

Honestly though, I think every major stepping/turning point in my life has involved a sandwich, (in some way or another).

So, to the utter amazement and dismay of my non-engineering friend I have devised a spreadsheet that will allow me not only to describe but also accurately rate, ratio and rank the sandwiches throughout the year. I figure people will be able to follow my movements by my sandwiches.

I am unfortunately not eating a sandwich right now, (Graham, I am so sorry), but I did just finish an open-faced turkey leftover sandwich about 2 hours ago.

The story behind this sandwich is fairly simple; it was to wash the Christmas tequila down.

No, no, no, it was actually because we did our big Xmas dinner last night and are now into the leftovers. Dad, Cam, Breanne and I headed to Apex for some Christmas afternoon XC skiing. After an invigorating slide I returned to my Dad’s house famished. This sandwich has a touch of mayo, fresh chunks of turkey, the remaining cranberry sauce and a handful of the roasted veggies. As you can see it is an open face, not seen clearly in this photo is the surprisingly good alpine round bread from Ferraro Foods. It was DEEEE-licious.

Coming soon....

The YEAR of the SANDWICH

Back from Baker

I have returned from Baker, although I suppose most people didn't even know I left. On a whim I jumped into the old Subaru with Jon on Friday morning and headed towards the towering mountain in the distance - Mt. Baker. Leaving all the planning to Jon I just rolled with it as I had my crampons, ice axe, harness and helmet sized up. We took BC Ferries over to Tsawwassen and drove to the Sumas border crossing. We hiked up from the car park that night and set up the camp at 5800 ft.

Jon had an alpine start all planned out. I figured this meant we'd be starting in the alpine, not starting in the alpine AT 2:00 IN THE MORNING.

]]> Imagine my surprise when just after midnight Jon nudges me and opens up the tent to expose me to not only the biting cold glacier air, but the most amazing starlit night over the towering Mt. Baker. "Wow", and "Damn am I tired", were my first two thoughts as I roused myself enough to stumble outside for my "morning" cup of coffee and some delightful instant oatmeal. Looking into the darkness you could see a couple climbing parties already making their way up the mountain with the headlights lighting up the glacier around them. We left camp at around 4:00 as the morning light was sneaking into the sky, at the point were a headlamp was just becoming unnecessary.

We climbed over crevasses, up 55 degree slopes, and over ice fields. We reached the summit of Grant's Peak at 9:00am. 30 other climbers made the ascent that morning, including this guy....

I didn't see his parachute in a crevasse or stuck on a rock so I am assuming he made it off the mountain alright.

We stuck around the summit long enough to chomp on a bagel and some trail mix. We arrived back at our tent around midday, and slathered on sunscreen in an attempt to make up for the fact we'd been baking on the ice for the last 3 hours. With extremely rosy cheeks the rest of the day was spent in a jovial stupor somewhere between sleep and semi-consciousness.

This morning we returned to the car and headed toward the Anacortes/Sidney ferry. By far the highlight of this drive was in Anacortes were we saw an anti-war rally on one side of the street, and a pro-war rally on the other. There were megaphones in the hands of both parties and a blaring pro-America country music being played by the "support Bush" station wagon. I got caught taking a picture of the pro-war gurus and they waved. Jon reciprocated by honking the horn and giving the ole thumbs up.

Bad Hostel Sandwich

The night following the most excellent evening at the Downhill Hostel I headed into (London)Derry City. The name is still a matter of confusion I have been told. I appeared at a hostel mid-afternoon, (much earlier than I usually would be checking in), only to find I was taking the last hostel bed in the city, all 4 other hostels were full. I didn't like the sounds of this as every other hostel dorm experience has been very spacious. I got to the room only to find it was occupied by old men. Five to be exact, one from France, one from New Zealand, one from Sweden, one crazy bugger from Ireland and one snorer.

]]> "Why me?" I thought as the overly friendly Irish fellow started talking at me. If you thought Fight Club dialogs were hard to understand try listening to this guy. I never did catch his name, although he told me it about 6 times, however, he caught mine and followed me around the hostel asking if I'd go drink a beer with him or if I wanted tea, (at least that is what I think he was saying). I managed to escape his pestering and walked the great walled city, (home of Bloody Sunday). There was a night life, however, I was just getting tired and headed back to the hostel.

In the dorm room there were 3 bunk beds, all steel and nasty thin mattresses. The structure of the things was sketchy at best and for the first time I was relieved to have to be sleeping on the top bunk. I figured if it was going to collapse it best be someone else getting squished! At about 11 o'clock I started to settle in and was soon joined by the snorer. Luckily his head was directly underneath mine and he was quick to fall asleep. DAMN!

I tried my best to rock the unstable structure of a bed, (hoping he would be startled awake and stop snoring), however the snoring persisted. I switched my body direction on the top bunk and in the process realized that not only was I going to have to stuff toilet paper in my ears, but I would also have to sleep in the fetal position as the bunk was only about 5'8" long. I am taller than that.

Ahhhh, what a night! I got up early and drank a large pot of coffee and headed off to the bus station. I was/am meeting Shona and Leanne Lindsay today in Dublin and needed to make quick time across the country. I scored the front seat on the bus, as the first Dublin bus was full and they needed to run a second for the overload! Sweet, because I had shown up late and would have missed the first.

I got as far as Ardee and was told of a beautiful hostel on a working farm in Slane, (right by the castle were U2 recorded their Unforgettable Fire album). I hit that up, and managed to score a huge room to myself. There was an en suite, drying racks (I got hit by some kinda rain storm that afternoon), free tea and coffee all in room, MY ROOM. I slept soundly as I listened to the rain shower, subconsciously deciding my next trip to Ireland will be requiring no tent and camping gear.

The Hamlet that was Downhill

I headed off from Ballycastle into weather that looked questionable at best. It seemed to be sunny in the frontyard, then raining in the back... this left me confused as to be doning my waterproofs or my sunscreen. Luckily it turned out for the best, (less the headwind I fought all day), and I rode towards the Giant's Causeway and the Bushmills Distillary. One of my first stops was just a beautiful vantage point looking down at the spectacular coastline, (not unlike California or Oregon's in sections). A car pulled in after me and a lively old man hopped out and started chatting away.

]]> He told me of his biking adventures and promptly offered me a cigarette. I declined and he appeared slightly offended, however, he and his son lit up and hovered around my bike asking questions about distance, destination and desires... (I tend to explain myself 6-12 times a day and have a concise response). He then offered me candy, disregarding everything I had learned in elementary school, I accepted. I couldn't stand to see that sad face of rejection twice. After a while I left the conversation and pedalled on to Giant's Causeway-EPIC. I then hit Bushmills for a tour and a nip, then on to Downhill.

Like every morning I had no idea where I would find myself in the evening, so as the day wore on, my legs started to tire and I started keeping my eyes opened for sleeping options. I headed down a hill and spotted a sign for HOSTEL. This one was a lovely Victorian house right on a picturesque beach. I signed in and meet my roommate for the night, Jana from the Czech Republic. She and I got a talking and decided that the water out our window looked mighty inviting and took off for the beach to have an evening dip in the North Channel. Brisk is one word, (f£@Ken cold is another).

We warmed up and I had a wonderful stroll down the 5-mile beach stretch as the sun was setting into the Atlantic.

Guinness is Good for You

I pulled into Belfast last Wednesday night, (after missing a ferry due to an unsightly sidewall failure on my bike), and while in line at the hostel was asked, "Where in BC are you from?" Having not met any other Canadians to date I instantly made friends with two boys who were from Merritt, (in the Okanagan). We went out for some pints, checked out the nightlife and as we were ushered out of the clubs I even got hugged by an extremely mushroomed out Irish man. He was amazed at how white my teeth were and how tanned my hands are. Geesh, some great assets-I suppose.

]]> The next day I was tempted by the Coastal Causeway, and although I was told the best way to tour Ireland is clockwise, I headed North making my route a counter-clockwise affair. I got hit with a torrential rain storm about 40-kms out and stopped to check out the tourist information. Luckily I managed to hop on the last bus of the night headed in my direction, as in the bus was pulling out as I arrived. I had a road map and from that had to decide where I wanted to get off, I choice Ballycastle, (hey it sounded nice). As we pulled into the little town a giant yellow building with the words HOSTEL splayed across it caught my attention. Things were working out.

Two girls also got off at this stop, and there I meet Alison and Rosy, the second set of Canadians in as many days. We were told of live traditional Irish music up the road that evening and arranged to meet up later. As I settled into the little hostel I heard some slightly familiar voices, JP and Clint, (the Merritt boys), had also been drawn to the yellow hostel. We made the most of Ballycastle and hit all the pubs, got front row seats for the improntu Irish jam, and even watched a wee Irish girlie show us her jigging skills.

As the night wore on our Canadian continguency chatted with the locals and I overheard the best line ever. The drummer from the jam sat down next to an aged man and started talking loudly. I am not sure the preamble but the just of it was:

"Wow, you are looking pretty good for 91," the old timer looked very proud, as the drummer continued, "shouldn't you be dead!" WTF, I instantly turn my head to see that the old timer was in fact sipping on a pint of Guinness.

I guess the phrase mounted over almost every bar here is true, "Guinness is Good for You!"

On to the Isle of Arran

Well, as I was told the Isle of Arran is a minature Scotland, and it is living up to my expectations. I got off Mull on Sunday and beelined it to here, (approx 80-miles and two ferry crossings). It does have everything big Scotland has, just smaller or less of them. This place has a small whisky distillery, one small brewery, hills (just smaller and less of them), sandy beaches, waterfalls and standing stones. I have circum-navigated the 68-miles of road around the Coastal route with my bike and am resting my head tonight at Glen Rosa at the base of the tallest peak on the Isle, Goatfell. Unfortunately I won't be ascending it as I am planning on catching the ferry to Ireland bright and early tomorrow morning.

]]> Last night I camped next to, surprise, a hotel with a pub. There was a local Scottish band playing and I had a pint of Guinness, (don't worry Cam, one pint over the period of 4 hours), and tried to look local by mouthing the words to numerous traditional tunes. It was open mike, and although I did not get up and perform, many others did and allowed me to fully experience some of the local talent.

Today I went and toured the Isle of Arran Brewery, walked to the falls and am right now being kicked out of the library at Broddick.

From the Top of Ben Nevis, to the Mud Bogs of Mull

I climbed the highest peak in the UK the other day. After getting 2/3 of the way up Ben Nevis I was in cloud cover and saw nothing. The top portion of the mountain is known to be cover in cloud 9 days out of 10, and I wasn't lucky this time. The walk, which was about 4-miles one-way, took 2 1/4 hours to summit, and about 2 hours down. It was a good hike which left my legs in immense pain for the following 3 days. Surprising how many different muscles are in involved in a hike. Interestingly enough I easily pedaled over to the Isle of Mull the next day, by way of the Road to the Isles (beautiful), however upon reaching the cottage Dad and family was staying at I had huge problems climbing up and down the staircase.

]]> I made it to Mull to join my Aunts, Dad and Dall at the MacLean/McLean/McLane (ect.) clan gathering which was a hoot. I met many many MacLeans from all over the world, with the largest continguencies being from the UK, New Zealand, Australia, USA and Canada. Trying to be subtle I attempted to photograph some of my favorites, punk McLean, Braveheart McLean, Redneck McLean and my McLeans. There was an evening Ceilidh, a day out at Duart Castle and of course the Grand Dance. The Grand Dance wherein my Aunt, her friend Sandy and I managed to smuggle water bottles full of cheap red wine into the event. There was a local band and dancing all evening. I do believe the average age was well into the 50's, however, I had a great time being spun around and getting stepped on out on the dance floor, (I was always in everyone's way - it seemed).#

Dad and I managed to sneak away for a hike on the Isle. Unfortunately the trail turned into a sheep path, which turned into a creek crossing, which then disappeared. We trekked across what a appeared to be a nice grassy field, only to find it was in fact a mud bog! With a miscalculated step your foot would be sucked into a deep pit of reddish muck, (as Dad and I found out first hand). Luckily we came out exactly in the wrong spot, exactly at the right time for our tardy aunts to pick us up.

No Nessy but Great Riding

After a few days of questionable trail/road riding I had an amazing day cruising past Loch Ness, through Fort Augustus, past Loch Lochy and into Fort Williams. The wind was behind me, the carriageway was single lane with few to no cars, and the weather held out. The ride into Fort Williams was magnificant as I got my first peak at Ben Nevis, (Ben = mounatain, Glen = valley, Loch = lake??), the sun broke out and I coasted into town.

]]> The previous night I spent in Inverness and snuck out in the evening to catch a local highland band, complete with a cellist. It was a cozy show in a little pub and I knew I was surrounded with locals, (everyone knew everyone). Once again there were real ales on tap and I sampled some of the local amber. A the night wore on, 11:30pm, I figured I should get back to the hostel. I left the pub and had expected it to be dark... not a chance! I asked a fellow when they expected it to get dark. He replied, "Maybe at 1, for 'bout an hour, by 2 twill be light again!". Oh, right, I am North.

Last night, I camped at the base of Ben Nevis in the local caravan/tent site. I was checking in just as two young English lads pulled up on their touring bikes. They were headed Lands End to John O'Groats. We shared a few pints, some stories, a game of butthead and swatted at midges until midnight. Once again at 56 degrees latitude and approaching the longest day of the year no lights were required. I am thinking I will purchase some 100% DEET today. It did wonders last night at temporarily keeping those damn insects away. Wasn't DEET outlawed for some health reason??

Today I am taking 'er easy, (again). I am thinking if the weather clears up this afternoon I will join the 70,000 people who annually reach the summit of the highest peak in the UK-Ben Nevis. At a whooping 1344m the 4-mile ascent is expected to take 3-4 hours.

Where is Nessy?

Today I arrived in Inverness which is mere miles North of the famed Loch Ness. I did not make it here entirely on my own accord, as I caught the train this morning from Pithlochry. I woke up to see another overcast day and with the cask beers of last night sitting rather heavy in my stomache I opted for the motorized transportation.

This has definitely been turning out to be an unplanned tour of Scotland as every night I seem to go to bed with an idea of which direction I am heading, and every morning I seem to change my mind.

]]> The first morning in Glasgow I noticed the wind was blowing West, so instead of heading in to Edinburgh, (East and my original plan), I was blown West and ended up at Loch Lomond. There are loads of well marked trails and paths, (part of the National Cycling Network), which take you around the country. I continued up the number 7 route, called Lochs and Glens which headed toward Callander, but not without problems. First I failed to look closely at the cycle map I had bought and was unaware that the trail was in fact a "trail". There were roots and bumps and rocks and many bridge crossings. Naturally riding my road bike I managed to flat 4 times. My patching skills are now quite admirable!

With a freshly patched tube I headed off again, only to ride a couple miles and then have my chain break. OI, what a way to start the trip. I fixed that, and was off again. Mileage being extremely slow and the fact I was getting hungry for dinner I decided to stop off the side of the trail at 55 miles, (90ish kilometers). There was a boyscout camp and I ignored the sign which read ~no unathorized camping~ and set up next to the hose bibb. All night I had a fear of being woken by angry boy scouts wanting me off their grassy pitch, but alas I woke in the morning unharmed. The next morning there was however a frightening number of slugs climbing up the sidewall of my tent.

As far as meeting strangers I am doing alright. I meet a scottish fellow named Alan right outside of Glasgow and we rode on and off for the first two days. He in on a beer tour and has been pointing me in the right direction for pubs. Lots of conversations with locals and tourists alike. I have noticed there isn't so much a sense of wonder when people see a solo female cyclist.

Anyways, tomorrow I am heading to Fort Augustine, down Loch Ness. The next day will be Fort William, and then I will be starting to make my way toward the Isle of Mull. My father, Dal and my two Aunts will be there to welcome me into their rented accomodation :)

Awww Glasgow

Well I have made it to Scotland, however, the trip over was not my smoothest travelling to date.

Getting my bike packed into the box was surprisingly easy this time. Getting my bike, by panniers and me to the Victoria bus station was fairly painless - thanks to the employee who broke the rules and let me store my stuff in the back room while I did a car drop. Riding the ferry was easy, and debatably amusing. The entire ride I had my ears filled with tales from Tim the Fire Protection Technologist. The thing is I had nothing better to do, so when he approached me just off Swartz Bay and asked about my knowledge of Land's End I cordially continued conversing with him. By the time we reached Active Pass he was convinced that if this was an American ferry route they would have blown up a couple islands to make it a more direct passage. I was slightly intrigued although I informed him that the Washington State Ferries did in fact go around the islands. He went on to tell me about how when all the glaciers melt in a couple years there will be no more islands, (he had just watched An Inconvenient Truth and felt himself an expert on global warming).

Still smooth sailing, (excuse the pun), the fun actually started upon my arrival at the Vancouver Airport...

]]> I arrived at the Air Transat counter 4 hours early to pick up my ticket, (I was planning to check the luggage and hit up beers and dinner with some friends at the Flying Beaver).

"Nope, your ticket is not here," said the lady behind the counter after returning my passport and looking past me to the next person in line.

"What do you mean?" I tried to get her attention back as I felt my heart start beating. I had looked at my emailed itinerary just prior to leaving my house and was ensured the date and time were right, not to mention there was a note at the bottom that had read Pick up ticket at YVR.

Looking at me like I was trying to pull a fast one she was as unhelpful as possible, and suggested I go get my tickets... HUH??? After she helped the person behind me in line she then turned back to me and suggested I call someone, (I am not sure who I would call at this point).

This carried on for an hour and a half, it felt like pulling teeth to get any kind of answer from her. My name was on the seat register, I showed her my confirmation email, and together we even read the Pick up ticket at YVR note. She held firm though, "No ticket, no flight", and although I was suppose to pick up the ticket there, she could not help.

In the end I had a choice; I could purchase a new ticket and file a LOST TICKET FORM for a refund or wait until tomorrow and contact Air Transat's office in Quebec.

I did option 1 and received a new ticket at the cost of $188, (taxes included). I now am over here in the UK and have no ticket for the route home, supposeably a refund is coming my way... Anyways, to say the least I have some phone calls to make.

Less that Scotland is pretty neat. I spent yesterday afternoon and today visiting museums and riding around Glasgow. The weather is about 15 degrees, and not raining, albeit overcast. I am hitting the road tomorrow morning and am still debating which direction I will actually go. I am thinking that I will take the bike route Northwest and end up in Inverness in 3-4 days.

Hopefully I will soon get the hang of this right-hand drive thing. I keep finding myself looking in the wrong direction for on coming traffic and ending up on the wrong side of the roadways-ERP. It probably will come naturally after a few more Guinness and Bellehaven pints.