Chris and Chris Cycle Galiano Island

Few welcome 5:30 am with open arms. We are no different.

The morning's light shone on a damp road. Not promising. The Ghost of Optimism climbed on my shoulder and whispered that the wet road was only left over from last night's rain. Pessimism jumped up and pointed out that the rain continued to fall at that moment, but I ignored him. After all, Optimism carried a day-old weather forecast and the possibilities of good tidings.

Chris meandered out of his room, eyes barely open. We had been awake only five hours earlier, packing our bikes tightly despite a night alongside ale. Thank goodness we thought ahead. We snacked down a bowl of cereal apiece and were out the door by 6:00 pm. Right on schedule. The ferry was 40 km away and departed in 3.5 hours. Plenty of time, but we had a few stops to make along the way and one never knows what can go wrong on a bicycle.

The streets were empty as we cruised towards Mt. Douglas Park to grab some equipment from Chris' Aunt and Uncle. Chris is only in Victoria for the summer, so he borrowed my other bike and my bags, as well as a tent from a friend. He still needed a sleeping bag and a helmet. Safety first.

Chris waits for the ferry

We ventured along the water before joining up with the Lochside Trail, the bicycle highway to the ferry terminal in Swartz Bay. It, too, was fairly empty. Unsurprising. Things take a little longer to get going in Victoria, especially on a Saturday morning. A smooth mix of paved path, gravel and peaceful residential streets got us to the ferries with plenty of time. A McD's pit stop supplemented our bowls of cereal.  The rain, as it would all day, switched shifts with sunny skies every thirty minutes or so. Odd.

Ferries, much like trains, can be a blessing. You have no control over the speed, so you are forced to sit and enjoy the trip. Our little island-hopper set off for its two-hour voyage and I went between enjoying the sights and reading my book about a fellow who lived in the Alaskan wilderness by himself for a few decades. Chris, seemingly incapable of staying awake on ferries, spent much of the trip asleep. I got a chance to see my campground from the past weekend on Salt Spring from the water.

Approaching the islands

The small town of Sturdies Bay welcomed us onto Galiano Island, one of the more mountainous Gulf Islands. Chris also pointed out that it was the most phallic - just look on a map. We figured it best to get to our planned campsite before embarking on any other adventures. It was only about 10 km to Montague Harbour Marine Provincial Park, but a hilly 10 km at that. We did enjoy a lovely long downhill that had us traveling at 68 km/hr. Having only one road to travel on makes navigation easy, but it always means that you have to climb back up every hill you fly down.

Just enough space for us

The campground was nestled alongside a beautiful little bay and several campsites were prime for the taking. It was only noon. An amazing feeling. The sunshine turned to rain as we finished putting up our tents, forcing us to find shelter to properly enjoy our lunch. We found what we believed to be a public shelter only a few feet away, but it was completely inhabited by a large group of teenage boys amusing themselves by charring crabs over a bonfire. The word "Bro" was as commonplace in their vocabulary as the word "the" is in ours, so the group became affectionately known as "the Broskies". We struggled to figure out who they were, as they were accompanied by several teachers.

Lunchtime at Fort Broskie

We sat quietly and enjoyed our bread, salami, cheese, mango and nutella lunch. The Broskies looked at us frequently, and it occurred to me that the shelter may have been part of their group campsite, as evidenced by the stairs leading directly to their tents and their clothing and equipment strewn all over the building. Chris didn't catch on until after he had cleaned our utensils with their dish soap, but he didn't attract any unwanted attention. After all, they couldn't possibly kick us out back into the rain. Incidentally, just as we finished up, the rain did, too. Blue skies arrived overhead and we left the Broskies to enjoy their uber-blackened crab. Fresh, at least.

It's almost tropical - save for the evergreens...

A short trail over a lagoon led us onto an accompanying park island, which we circled for an hour of so. The entire sky was almost completely devoid of clouds and the still water glistened in the bay. T'was beautiful. We followed a white beach around the perimeter of our island, the broken shells crunching under our feet. The Broskies struggled to steer their group of kayaks as we wandered back to the campsite.

The view from Bodega Ridge - there's a storm a 'brewin

The weather continued to be promising, so we set off to Bodega Ridge. Several steep climbs and fast descents later, we found ourselves at the entrance to the ridge, which did not disappoint. We could see for miles across to Vancouver Island, which looked like it was getting pelted with rain. An ominous sign. I also managed to spot a small red dock on Salt Spring Island where I had ventured along with Karen in mid-March. It's nice to see such things from above. The trail along the ridge skirts a very steep drop-off, so do not bring any rambunctious children with you if you visit.

Returning along the same path always seems to be faster and we arrived back to our campground in time to pay the park attendant. We decided to eat before heading down to the marina for a patio beer. As we ate our dinner - identical in composition to our lunch, but without any Broskies to amuse us - a woman came along and offered to give us her embers, as she had little use for her current fire. We had to decline because of our beer plan, but we also realized the inherent barriers (and dangers) of transporting embers.

Montague Harbour

To our dismay, the marina restaurant was closed. No end-of-the-day beer. It would have been perfect, as the sky was clear and the water completely still. Perhaps it was for the best. Fatigue caught up to both of us and a beer could have very well put us to sleep on the patio. We returned to the camp in time to catch the sunset. The beach was peppered with people quietly gazing at the beauty unfolding in front of them. We spotted a few seals playing in the bay. The Broskies, having found their female counterparts, revealed their abilities to ruin wonderful moments. Unnecessarily loud screams, shouts and threats to throw each other into the water undermined the ambiance. Amidst the teenage chaos, seemingly in an effort to remind everyone why they were there, one teenage girl repeatedly screeched "it's so fucking beautiful." Her reminders went unnoticed by her compatriots, but we did appreciate her efforts.

A nice spot for a beer...

Eventually the sun went down and we retired into our respective tents for the night. I was interrupted for a little while by the pitter patter of rain on the tent, but it sounded a lot worse than it was.

"It's so fucking beautiful" - loud teenage girl

The morning was nutella-fueled and cold. The sky was overcast, but didn't feel like it would rain. We got on the road to return to the ferry docks, greeted immediately by the same hill we had sped down at 68 km/hr. Nearly 15 or 20 grueling minutes later, we were at the top. Any early morning ambitions of a second hike before the ferry were ejected from the itinerary. Some more rolling hills had us gliding back into Sturdies Bay with nearly 1.5 hours to go. We wanted a coffee, so we stopped in a small diner. Very little arm twisting put big plates of breakfast in front of us. Our server struggled to remember each detail of our orders, but all parties were tired enough that we didn't care. She cited her attendance at a wedding the previous night as reason for her state, a state that was shared by most of the other locals inside. I imagine island weddings are pretty special.

The ferry arrived, Chris fell asleep and I read my book. What a beautiful island. So much calmer than Salt Spring and far less developed. Who knows what it's like farther into the summer, though.

Well-deserved

A headwind accompanied us on the way back to Victoria, but it was much nicer than a huge hill. A final stop for some lemonade at Chris' family's house put a nice cap on the ride - I would rather not count our stop for soggy pizza that ended up falling on the street.