Rocky/Brazeau-Nobody On The Road-Laws Broken-And A Loss

A MERE BUT SATISFYING 800 OR SO UNITS TRAVELLED

ONE UNIT = ONE KILOMETER

Other than the title and it’s sub, ‘Nobody On The Road’ didn’t have much to do with this short rip north and back. Other than the distinct possibility of death while on a mission, the Rocky and Brazeau areas north of home were both known and unknown to me. I am not a mercenary in trouble. The Brazeau Dam was the dart board destination I wanted to see if only to go where we were to have gone on a school trip so long ago. Wee Jeff falling down Shunda Mountain in the Nordegg area on one outing put a stop to the Brazeau trip. Why not now? The peak riding season and the days were getting shorter. The nights were getting colder so the opportunities for relatively comfortable moto camping were diminishing.

From home, I take the 567 west to 766 north through Madden and then a pleasant, non-ordinary Township. Rd. 290 through the tiny community of Dogpound. I then take Hwy 22, yes it’s still The Cowboy Trail, north to the ungentrified village vibe of Cremona. From there I head west on Township Rd 320 to the wooded Sundre along the Red Deer River. Sundre has a public hospital with only 2,700 people. Airdrie has a population of almost 90,000. They have a $70 million dollar legacy/ego virtue signaling project and a CAO and council dedicated to U.N. Sustainable Development Goals. It is a doomed city. The 22 takes me west to sweet Caroline, no, it’s not named after that Neil Diamond hit of 1969, and then north again all the way to Rocky Mountain House. I have lunch and top up the tank to decide where I’m going to pitch camp or the night. This is where I reluctantly decide to break two laws that I have recently enacted. These were acts of my personal parliament based on recent experience and a lingering resentment of life in Canada. There are no penalties for breaking these laws except for some minor irritations and indignations. There are however penalties for escalating minor irritations but only if caught by the government controlled Fascist Gendarmerie royale du Canada.

I broke the first law by deciding to camp at the Rocky Mountain House National Historic Site that features Tipis, Trapline Cabins, Trailer Campgrounds, Metis Trapper Tents, and Walk-in Tenting. It’s well appointed and clean and mostly worth the $37 for a tent site. Of course as a national park, all signage has to be in both ‘official’ languages, a long standing humiliation ritual of oppression inflicted on the resource colonial west by the Laurentian elites.

Parcs Canada is PARKS CANADA! Promenade de la Vallée-de-la-Bow is the BOW VALLEY PARKWAY! Parc national Elk Island is ELK ISLAND NATIONAL PARK! For fiddlesticks sake!

I broke the second law by eating gravel for the last three units to get to the park. After a spill on the deep gravel of Hwy. 40 outside of Nordegg, AB last year, and hurting my back on a failed recovery lift and being stranded on a low traffic road before help arrived, I decided not to tempt fate on this aspect of adventure moto travel that can take you to great places. I’ve done my share of gravel without incident but that spill made me question my future on two wheels instead of four. I decided to mitigate the inherent risks by limiting my road and trail surface choices.

The words ‘If’ and ‘When’ are key to figuring out where you’ve been or where you might have gone ‘if’ and ‘when’ all of the elements of a plan or whim become manifest. The planets line up. The globular or planar earth either whirls or hovers with planets spinning and orbiting around it to help earthlings calculate seasons and time to plan their lives and productivity.

The word ‘when’ came up when I was sitting at the ‘allowed’ fire that I made with gleaned deadfall and scraps that previous campers had left in their fire ring. A bag of firewood was $15 and was more wood than I was willing to stay up for, or carry to another campsite. I had my supper and cleaned up. My camp was set. I was sitting quietly ‘when’ I thought it appropriate to listen and look and feel.

When all I hear is quiet except for the sound of the North Saskatchewan River, the flyover of Canada Geese and the occasional lone mallard, sparrow song, gopher chirps and the intermittent burble and gargling of cranes. Leaves and grasses rustle. Later the coyotes would yip and sing.

When all I see is 360 degrees of nature mixed with the park infrastructure, the setting of the sun behind the trees and the start of a thin fog rising from the ground. Condensation is starting to coat my brilliant machine. It seems so small tonight amid the wide landscape. Later, a full moon would light my way to a wake-up and a walk.

When all I feel is the last warming of my skin and the creeping coolness and that feeling I get when everything seems right for now.

When all I smell is the scent of pine, whisps of campfire smoke, river smell, rotting poplars and deadfall turning to earth and the sour smell of those white bush berries. Snowberries I think.

When all I sense as the light dims is the passing of time for me now and the time that’s passed from when pioneers and traders and Indians moved around with purpose.

It’s times and trips like these, after the bike has cooled, after I have walked barefoot, grounding on the green grass or sand or soil, that I briefly understand that the feedback loop between my brain, my gut and the rest of my body is not fixed or static. There are networks and pathways that open and close as I rest or move or sleep. They flow and percolate when I am alone or engaging with others. Neurons fire like spark plugs.

The next morning was misty and cool leaving my bike and gear near frosty wet. I boil water for coffee and breakfast while shaking off and wiping down things. There is something satisfying about moto camping. Whether it’s unpacking and moving gear from bike to table and tent or packing up again and making ready to go. There is an order and balance to the gear that must be maintained.

Squared away, I get on Hwy 11A west and north to get on Hwy 11 north and west, The David Thompson Highway. This part of Alberta features oil and gas installations and infrastructure as well as access to active logging operations. There are streams and marshes and the occasional beaver dam to break up the forest scape. Other than that, it’s bush country and very few people on the road. No rogue mercenaries that I could see. What I do see is a sporadic flow of pick-up trucks and other vehicles with trailers hauling side-bys, ATVs, dirt bikes and various watercraft. The weekend warriors were stirring. No doubt the local wildlife were making their own moves in opposite directions. My next move took me onto the Sunchild Road, Range Road 101A, which was to take me north. It’s more of the same good road through familiar alien to me scapes with a pass through the O’chiese Indian Reservation that has an on reserve population of 800 or so members of the Saulteaux tribe but there was nobody on the road. No sign for me to watch for pedestrians. They have a gas station there. I didn’t need any. There are only a few farm or ranch holdings to be seen on the stretch to the Brazeau Reservoir and Dam. There were some ‘Stock At Large’ signs but there weren’t any…stock that is. The Brazeau Reservoir Provincial Recreation Area, located upstream from the dam, which includes three campgrounds and facilities for hunting, fishing, canoeing, kayaking, bird watching, and power boating…and littering and graffiti too…of course.

Brazeau Dam is a hydroelectric facility located in Brazeau County, central Alberta, Canada, approximately 55 kilometers southwest of Drayton Valley. It was constructed along the Brazeau River, at its confluence with the Elk River, within the hydrographic basin of the North Saskatchewan River. Construction began around 1960 and was completed in 1963, with the first generating unit installed in1965. Of course our utility rates continue to rise.

After stopping on the dam for some fluids and figs, I continued on Highway 620 northeast on to Lodgepole with not very much interesting to look at but some old forest burns. Lodgepole is a hamlet of roughly 120 people now. Lodgepole was established in1956 as a support center for the oil and gas industry while new infrastructure was being developed. I like the word ‘hamlet’. I think of Shakespearian pork products. I motor on towards Drayton Valley. I wonder if they have outlived their nickname of ‘Druggy Valley’. Hope so. I don’t stop in to find out and carry on to Hwy 39 east to the corner gas at Alsike to get back on the 20 south which is a pretty straight run through farm and country all the way to Breton and on to Winfield, Hoadley and Bluffton. I slow roll through these two hamlets. Did I mention that I like the word ‘hamlet’? Nice little hamlets.

I make it to Rimbey where I stop for gas and some food. I’m determined to eat local. I choose Roger’s Drive-in Restaurant because it looked to be popular with locals. Turns out there was a rodeo in town and most of the diners were actual cow and horse type people with cow and horse dirt and dust on them. Everybody had wrist bands, including some Dutch tourists I talked to. Of course they sorta knew who Itchy Boots was. Turns out Roger’s was started back in the 80’s by Roger and his wife. A poster said so. The food I didn’t order seemed okay. I don’t recommend their donairs. The fries were okay. Of course Roger’s Drive-in is owned by the Patel Mafia now. I like Rimbey.

I take 51st street outta town which winds into Township Road 422 which bends into Range Road 25 which is a pleasant country farm road. In the distance you can see a rise in forested green elevation which is at odds with everything around it, a mini Cypress Hills sort of. The Medicine Lodge Ski Hill is there. In the prairies? Go figure. I get on Highway 12 east to Bentley and then head south to Sylvan Lake, where I don’t stop…except for the red lights through a busy resort community. After Sylvan, I get on the 11 east towards Red Deer, also known as ‘Dead Rear’. Not sure why. I decide to beeline it home for the last 115 units home. Traffic is heavyish and I’m ‘forced’ to overtake big rigs and RV traffic if only to shake off the aggression of tailgaters. Of course I did this ‘safely’. There is a bit of a rush to going faster than the speed limit, an energy that could be the end of me.

This is not the end of the road. Not by an ever-loving longshot.

Epilogue And Good-bye : (

When I got home I found my beloved cat partner and housemate Ninja halfways under the coffee table staring out at me. He couldn’t move. He usually started howling as soon as he heard the garage door open. He had been sick with an untreatable upper respiratory infection for a few months. He was a fifteen year old adopted rescue cat with too many shots and meds under his skin. He was slowing down and sleeping a lot. I could see that he hadn’t eaten much since I left but had thrown up clear liquid. He was okay when I left. I tried giving him water with a dropper but he wasn’t having any. I made him comfortable and sat with him for most of the night. He responded to petting and weakly cried out twice. By morning he was gone. Vet says he probably had a stroke…or something. I will miss his welcome homes and chest cuddles and head butts and companionship and presence. I will miss his purr motor.