looking the part

here we come!

"You know you can camp on any Crown Land in Canada, you don't neeed no permission." The man is talking to me outside a supermarket where I'm watching the bikes. "You can even camp under ANY bridge, and light a fire and everything and the police can't do nothing."  The man looks a little down at heel. "I done that just a little while ago with my friends.  We got a good ol' fire going and had us some beers." The first thing I notice when he first approaches is that he's Indian, First Nation.  He asked me where we're heading and when I mention Montana, he tells me that he's got family on the Flathead Reservation, that the Indians are really friendly and if we ever find ourselves on Indian territory not to be afraid to ask for help.  At which point he offers up his camping information for Canada.

Steph has welcomed us into her fine old house and found room for us despite having friends come to stay over the weekend.  One of the friends is jokingly called Dr. Weed as he is an experienced marijuana grower and supplies it 'medicinally'.  The house has an easy-going open-door shared house feel to it and we are invited to share in meals.  Steph and her partner live close to downtown Calgary in a lovely old neighbourhood.  The city itself now sprawls right across the plain and the downtown has an empty eerie unlived-in hollowness compensated only by the lovely green park that runs along the river bank.  Joggers and cyclists dodge dog-walkers and tourists on the different paths.  Outside a gear shop we meet a fellow cycle-tourist who surprises us by telling us he's from the Isle of Man.  Colin has crossed from the east and is heading towards the Pacific coast before turning southwards.  His bike is heavily loaded - mind-bogglingly so.   

dinner with Steph, Kyle and Jason

In the evening Gayle gets a message from our friend Karen who lives in Long Island.  She's seen that we're in Calgary and so is she.  We meet up for a quick lunch the next day.  Karen has lived in North America for over twenty years but her scouse accent is still broad.  The joy of Facebook - an unexpected chance to catch up with an old friend.

Karen & Gayle stop talking for a few seconds for a photo

setting out after a huge breakfast of pancakes

We head out of Calgary along the bike path beside the river.  After an hour the valley narrows and the bike path leaves the riverside and we are confused.  Which way to go?  We ask a passerby and she suggests we take a train.  A man with his son stops to help, but he doesn't know where the bike path is.  The woman suggests again that perhaps we take the train. The little boy looks us up and down and says "Maybe they don't have any money for the train."  Aha.  He thinks we're down at heel.  We are saved further embarrassment by another passerby who explains how we rejoin the bike route.  

It climbs steeply up onto the edge of the valley overlooking the river and leads us around the back of several housing estates before bringing us out on the old Trans Canada highway.  The road is busy enough but there's a good shoulder most of the time.  Our first day out of Calgary ends above a reservoir when we spurn an ugly campground in favour of a higher spot off the road.  After we've pitched and dined, keen to start with good camping etiquette, I gather together all our food and scented products to store away from the tent.  We have two large dry bags to tie up but there's not a solid branch on any of the trees.  Exasperated, I shove the bags into the crook of a branch at my head height.  If the bears want 'em, they can bloody well have 'em.

seen any bears yet?

annuver cantry, innit

sheds on a beach - who can teach the Brits about natural beauty?

 "Why do you wanna bicycle all the way to Worthing, then?   Why don't you just take the train?"  and as if to emphasise the point a train pulls into the nearby station.  We have paused to ask for directions.  In theory we're following the National Cycle Route 2 but we've also been following signs for the South Coast Cycleway.  We think they're the same thing but sometimes the signage differs.  The last fella we stopped was on a bike.  We explained we were heading along the coast to Worthing.  He knew where we wanted to be but he coudn't quite describe how to get there.  After some attempt at directions he suddenly gave up and touched his nose saying "Just follow your nose.  Just follow your nose." We thought he might have escaped from a Dickens novel.  

"Right?" "No, left" "Left?"  "Right"

Following our nose is what we've been doing most of the morning.  Yesterday we caught the ferry from St Malo to cross to Portsmouth.  On board we met an American couple who were also on bikes.  We thought our schedule was hectic, but suddenly seven days to get to our friends in Shoreham-by-Sea and sort out our stuff before flying to Canada seemed quite a reasonable plan.  The Americans were going to train it to London, then on to Anglesey to catch a ferry to Dublin where they would start cycling again.  They were looking forward to their hotel stay and evening out in Portsmouth's old town centre.  Mmmm.  England's towns aren't always as pretty as French ones, we warned them.  

Ruth, our Warm Showers host in Portsmouth, was out sailing in the evening, so her housemate welcomed us in.  Ruth had given up her bed for us, which seemed above and beyond.  We meet up in the morning over an early breakfast before she heads off to work.  She has her own plan to cycle to Australia in what seems an impossibly short time.  Before we part she gives us directions to get on the cycle path.  It shouldn't be difficult, should it?  I mean, we're just riding along the seaside. Half an hour later we pass by a road we recognise - Ruth's road.  Somehow we've done a circle.

It's the housing estate that does it.  One of those thirties-built semi-detached suburbs where everyone has a drive.  Where the roads curl around each other in long arcs and intersect only occasionally.  Gayle bursts out into a series of salty phrases that might even make a sailor blush.  The gist is simple: we are lost and why don't we have a smart phone to navigate? An hour later, having recovered ourselves, we enter a rather plush, posh and private-looking estate.  I say private-looking because the sign at the gate says "Private - Residents Only".  We end up almost on the beach - a footpath ("Cyclists Must Dismount" "Public Footpath" "All Cyclists Will Be Shot On Sight") leads us to a sandy dry riverbed and a cafe at the end of a cul-de-sac.  We've reached Worthing.  As you'd expect from the name, and despite what some West Sussex folk might say, Worthing is worth it.  Here we get to stay with Claire and Andy and their young son, Felix.  This is a happy Warm Showers experience with a twist as we stayed with them in 2015 when they lived in Hokkaido.  It is an absolute delight to see them again.  Felix arrived soon after they completed their long ride home from Japan.
 

in the south of England the council tax is used to provide better summer weather

In the morning it's a mere bagatelle to make the ride along to Shoreham-by-Sea so we spend a little more time with Claire and Felix before failing to break sweat reaching our other friends Suzi and Dino.  These two lovelies look after us for a week - entertaining, feeding and amusing us as they usually do, whilst we hurriedly get last minute gear and clothes to take with us.  They have kindly acted as a postbox for us to receive replacement kit.  Hannah comes down from London and Claire and Andy cycle over with Felix.  It feels really good to share this brief time with good friends.

low tide on the pebble beach

local bye-laws state that brunch must always be served outdoors between April and October

Claire, Felix and Andy

For some perverse reason I decide to wash our sleeping bags in an attempt to revive them.  While we're faffing about Suzi is preparing for a job interview (she gets it) and Dino is putting finishing touches on the garden he has built (he's still doing it)

Amazingly, the garden was a yard two years ago.

We think we can box up our bikes and drag them to the train station to get to the airport but Dino has a better idea: he gets out the roof rack.  There is a moment when I wonder if their mini will cope with us, our bags and two bikes but I've passed the point of blind panic and already moved onto blind faith. Just close your eyes, it'll be fine.

our hero