our bikes loaded and ready to go

As it is now October the first and the leaves are beginning to change, it seems I cannot put off writing about my summer adventures any longer. This summer I learned a new outdoor activity: bike touring. When I say I learned, I mean I biked from Victoria, British Columbia to Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario with no formal cycling experience.

A combination of factors inspired this trip. My fiancé and I had been tossing ideas back and forth for months about a perfect summer adventure. I was going a little bit nuts in one city, working evening shifts and not getting outside nearly enough. He was feeling burnt out after a challenging first year of a masters degree. Since we both bike to work and school regularly we joked about just biking away. Then his sister announced she was pregnant and we realized we needed to go home to see our family. Over dinner one night Sebastian suggested that we just bike there. I went along with the idea, and a few quick months later we were packing bikes with a massive quantity of gear and questioning our ability to ride the heavy beasts without falling over.

The scheduled departure date was mid-June, however I was offered some last minute work with NOLS in the Yukon and we had to push back the start date to July 11. On July 9 I flew home from Whitehorse after a month of hiking in the backcountry. Before I left we had not yet saved enough money to buy all of the panniers and tires and other general bike upgrades we needed for the trip. All of that work was left to Sebastian. I had been out of contact for a month and I hoped that everything would be ready, and more importantly that I would be able to ride a bike 4000 kilometres.

When I got home the first thing Sebastian showed me was the bikes, they looked wonderful. We went for a ride around town, they had been tuned professionally and the gears shifted like they were brand new. The tires had been changed from mountain bike tires to a hybrid tire that was slick around the middle to be more efficient on roads, but was studded on the sides to allow us to ride on dirt roads and moderate trails. In addition there were handlebar extensions, racks for back panniers and a front pouch, more water bottle holders and a rear view mirror. I was thrilled. Then we got home and began pulling gear for the trip. We lay it all out on the living room floor. There was not a lot of extraneous gear, except for a set of badminton rackets and a Frisbee, and yet it looked like way more than could ever be packed onto a bike. We spent all day on the 10^th packing the gear, and trying to balance the weight distribution on the bikes.

On July 11 we rode away from our apartment in the sunny afternoon. It was exciting to think that within a few hours we would be far from home, on the mainland and totally on our own. As I coasted down my street on my heavy bike I marvelled at how well it rode considering how easily it topples over without momentum. My worries about the bikes being overloaded were slowly slipping away. Then I hit a speed bump. The back pannier bounced off the bike. I realized we still had a long way to go and a steep learning curve to adjust to life on the road. We figured out a better system to attach the panniers and then set out again.

We cruised along a familiar trail up to the ferry, a 2 hour ride, and narrowly missed the 5 pm ferry. Better planning would have told us that the next ferry wasn’t until 7 pm, but we were not too concerned. We waited and had dinner and boarded the boat. Riding onto the ferry with all the cars was a new experience. It was exciting knowing that we were setting out on something very big. I saw leaving Vancouver Island as passing the point of no return. I didn’t know where we were going to camp that night, or the next night. I had no accurate estimate of how much distance we could cover in a day on our heavier than normal bikes, through mountain trails and back roads. I was not worried about those things. I was excited. I knew that this adventure was happening. After months of build up, the trip had begun; we were about to cross North America on our bikes.

My name is Julie Bremner and I am passionate about the outdoors. I recently graduated from Laurentian University with a degree in Physical and Health Education specializing in Outdoor Adventure Leadership. I went immediately to Alaska, where I trained to be an instructor for the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS). My first contract, one month of backpacking in the Yukon coast range, came right after.  I then moved to Victoria, British Columbia. For many reasons I decided to work in the city for the time being and so like many new University grads, trained in an unusual field, I found a stable job with stable pay and benefits that is totally unrelated to my field of interest. Of course I have continued to seek out personal wilderness adventures and I am always open to training opportunities. I am building my skills towards the career that I want, although I am not sure what that is exactly. I do know that a part of it must be the wilderness.

It is difficult to explain to friends and family why the wilderness calls to me as it does.  Why I need adventure and risk in my life. Why I am willing to give up the stability that bores me to death in search of something uncertain.  In fact this June I intend to quit my stable job, give up all my benefits and ride my bike across Canada to visit my family in Ontario. The most common response to this is, “Julie you’re crazy!” My mother’s preferred comment is, “Why not work for a couple extra months, save money and fly home?” The ‘crazy’ response I understand; biking across the country, although not uncommon is certainly not the mainstream form of trans-Canada transportation. Most people simply don’t understand why or can’t picture the pleasure that might be derived from such a voyage. However those who call me crazy always offer their support and encouragement and often I detect a slight envy, as if I am doing something they could only dream of. It is my mother’s response that shows true misunderstanding. This inability to comprehend my motivations is the biggest obstacle I have faced in devoting my life to the pursuit of great adventure. And the answer is very simple. It is the journey. The journey is what matters.

My first great journey came when I was 14. I had been begging my parents to take me on a long camping trip for some time. It was not possible and my Dad encouraged me to look up Outward Bound. It only took one internet search for me to make up my mind, I would go on a 17 day backpacking trip in the Coast Mountains of British Columbia. Before that trip I had never spent more than 2 nights in a tent. I had never carried an expedition weight backpack, or gone on more than a day hike. I loved the wilderness and had fond memories of summer camp and summers spent at the cottage, but no practical outdoor skills. I was also extremely shy and socially awkward. I had never travelled that far from home by myself and given the age group listed for the trip I was certain to be the youngest on the course. None of that even crossed my mind. I just knew I needed to go.

I remember arriving at the base camp after driving all day north from Vancouver. I was introduced to my group, about a dozen teens who seemed to radiate confidence. Then I was shown my tent. It was a tarp, with no walls and no floor, I was afraid of bugs. I didn’t sleep at all that first night. The next day we went through the gear we would need, although we seemed to be lacking so many personal necessities when we finally packed it all into our backpacks I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, there was no way I could lift that bag. Two of the guys in my group helped me hoist it onto my back, I lurched forward towards the truck, maybe ten steps, I thought I would collapse, then I unloaded it onto the truck and began to seriously doubt my ability to complete this course. I was too shy to say anything, so I told myself I would just have to do it. The next day we drove for hours on dirt roads, into the heart of the mountains, as far away from civilization as I had ever been, farther than I realized was possible in our modern world. And then the truck unloaded and drove away, we were alone.

The first hiking day was unbelievably difficult. A huge rock fall had demolished a large section of the route and we were immediately thrown into a boulder field. For what felt like hours we stumbled over loose scree, large uneven boulders and steep slopes. Finally it became obvious that we were not making any meaningful progress and we turned around. By dark we had made it back to the place where the truck had dropped us off. One girl had had enough. At camp she cried and stayed in the tent all night, refusing to eat. Her feelings mimicked mine, although I did not show it. The next day a satellite phone call was made and the girl was sent home. Just before the truck came to pick her up our instructors warned that this would be the last chance to get out, once we hiked away from this road the only way out was by helicopter and to be evacuated by helicopter meant you were seriously injured. I wanted to leave, I really did, but I couldn’t admit it to anyone so I told myself that I would have to toughen up.

The hike did not get any easier. Each day we travelled at least 15 km. We woke up at the crack of dawn and went to bed as the sun set. The bugs in the low valleys were horrendously maddening. The high alpine offered a respite from the bugs but brought new challenges, steep rocky terrain, ragging wind storms and scorching sun. On top of the physical demands camp life was difficult for me. Before this trip I had only cooked Kraft dinner. Lighting the camp stove always seemed to burn me and then I didn’t know what to do with the food once I got the stove going. Each night the irrational fear that a grizzly bear would tear me out of my sleeping bag consumed me. A couple of the group members were extremely challenging to get along with and I often felt left out or frustrated with people, and my social skills were not up to dealing with these conflicts. But despite the long list of discomforts and challenges I was having the time of my life.

The profound beauty of the landscape called to me. Each day I looked forward to slaving over another mountain pass to see what would lie on the other side. It was incredible to be in a place so devoid of humanity yet so rich with life. I pushed myself to always hike at the front of the group to get the first glimpse of what was around the corner. I needed to prove to everyone and myself that I could do this, that despite being the youngest girl on the course I could be the toughest person. I could endure and thrive through the challenges. Every day I became more and more empowered, I began to believe in myself like I had never done before, my confidence grew as I overcame obstacles. With confidence I began to have more meaningful social interactions. Over the course of the trip I made some wonderful friends, one that remains to this day. It taught me that hardship can bond people and that trusting others can give you more strength.

On the final day of the course one of our instructors said something that has always stayed with me. She said that “whether you realize it or not this trip has affected you. You will leave this place and perhaps plan to forget all about it, but years from now you will still look back on this expedition and draw learnings from it.” Now as I sit here nine years later, an accomplished outdoors woman, confident in my skills, I can’t ever forget how it all began. That Outward Bound course set me on the path I am still following.

It has been a long and challenging path. I have never felt that being a woman in anyway affected my judgement or decision making in the field. It never held me back or limited my physical ability. However being a determined female outdoor adventurer has always raised concerns in people like my mother. It comes back to stability and practicality. She and others like her don’t understand why I would sacrifice those things to pursue dangerous adventures. Perhaps to her this is not what women are meant to do. I admit that the path I am on is not the fast track to wealth. Nor is it the ideal of family life. But it is exciting. It fills me with passion. I don’t know where this path I am on is leading and that is terrifying to many practical people. But not knowing makes it more exciting to follow, not knowing takes all importance away from the destination. All importance is placed on the journey. To me that is what life is, a journey, and I am enjoying every step.