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July 19 Tuesday Bicycle touring from Vauxhall Alberta - Bow Island Alberta I jogged to the convenience store and bought a chocolate milk for Sharon and I and a black coffee for Susan. My idea was to drink the milk then use the milk carton to put the remainder of our chili dinner in for easier transport. Chili is, like they say, always better on the second day. At least that's what I'm hoping. However, before I can implement my plan, Sharon decides to just carry the chili in the pot. I must say, that does have its attractions. We pack up and ride our bikes to a gas station where we use the washrooms. I enquire if there's a pool in town. There is. We head over to the Recreation Centre for a shower. After an invigorating scrub, we get on our bikes and ride across the Oldman River. It's lucky for those fish I'd say that Susan decided to give them a break today. Ah, they're probably old anyway. We zoom down a pretty good hill for these parts and see an old house beside a meandering stream that looks as if it has been there since homesteading days. There is some old farm equipment surrounded by flowers. Lots of irrigation now. We buy lunch at Safeway in Taber. Susan gets some cheese, and a ham and broccoli salad from the deli. We go to the park and eat the cheese and salad along with yogurt and granola, Smarties, blueberries, cherries, strawberries, grapes, and apples. The sun hides behind clouds just as we arrive and we shiver the whole time we eat lunch. For some reason, at the angle I'm sitting at at the picnic table, I take a gander at Sharon's rear tire and notice a bald spot on the side. We debate whether to replace it or not. Sharon decides not to: Medicine Hat is only two days away and we can get one there or, since Vicky is coming again to ride with us on the weekend, we can have her bring one down with her. We get back on our bikes and head east on Hwy 3. The wind is pushing us, so it's a good direction to go and it doesn't take long before we're warm again. Sixteen kilometres from Taber, almost to Purple Springs (don't drink the water), Sharon has an eardrum busting blowout. She has a no flat tube, so she is able to wrestle her bike to a stop without hitting the ditch -- although it is close and it is only due to her extreme good bike handling skills that it is not a catastrophe. Green slime from the tube's innards is everywhere ... and I do mean everywhere. Who knew such a little tube could hold so much green gunk? We could see a side road up ahead, so we pushed Sharon's bike to it. We just got the tire off when an older couple stops and asks if we need help. As a matter of fact.... Susan and I catch a ride with them into Taber to buy a new tire while Sharon stays with the bikes. First, the gracious couple takes us to Canadian Tire, but Canadian Tire only has 27-inch tires -- Sharon needs a 700 mm. We try the sport shop next. The clerk looks in the back and comes out and told us all they have 27s. "Where can I get a 700?" "Lethbridge," he says. I tell him we're on bikes kind of out in the country at the moment. He says he'll ask the manager and goes off to find him. While he's gone I pull a tire down from an overhead nail and scrutinize the sidewall. "700 x 28C" it reads. When he comes back shaking his head I tell him I'll buy this one until they get some 700s. The couple takes us back to the edge of Hwy 3 and helps us flag down a ride. One of their friends pass us by and don't even notice the fella was yelling their names while he waved his arms. Determined not to let that happen again, when he recognizes a pickup coming towards us he flaps his arms and runs out into the middle of the lane. Yikes! The poor guy coming towards him has no alternative but to stop or hit the old fella. The driver elects to slam on the brakes and soon we are bouncing down the road with a craggy potato farmer. He tells us he sells potatoes in Alberta and northwestern United States, including Idaho. He has quite the eye for Susan. We get Sharon's bike all patched up and head on down the road before stopping at a little store in Grassy Lake. Inside, I spy some rolls of Kodachrome 64 slide film sitting in the window in the hot sun. Not good. I pick up a box and note the expiry date is from over ten years ago. We pedal past fields of sunflowers till we come to a campground outside of Bow Island. The campground has two features: noisy and smelly. There are no picnic tables and the wind is howling. We opt to go into town, population 1508. There is a reservoir holding 150 million gallons of water -- enough to slake the thirst of the thirstiest cyclist. Maybe we will be lucky enough to find something out of the wind. In town, we buy a package of buns for our chili. Maybe we can make Sloppy Joes. I ask a young kid if there's a park nearby. His directions lead us to Centennial Park. It also has camping. We sit in a gazebo while sprinklers spray around us. We had just nicely finished cooking supper and were about to tuck in when the automatic sprinklers shot out of the ground and started soaking us. We made a run to get the bikes out of the spray, then we shuttled the picnic table and all of its contents three hundred feet away. After supper we go for a walk past a cemetery and through a golf course. I ask a youngster if there is a pool in the town. "Yes," he affirms. "It's by the big brick building with the bad words written on it." Okay, then. |
