July 27, 2021 A ride to the mountain and back

I awoke to the acrid smell of smoke-filled skies. The air was thicker with ashes and smoke from the forest fires than it has been all year. The Okanagan Valley looked as if it was filled with a fog that smelled like a campfire. Only this fog stung the eyes.

I had to go to the top of the mountain. I sure hoped I could go above the smoke.

I had a job at Big White Mountain Resort. What better way to get there than on my Honda St 1300. The sun struggled to pierce the shroud of smoke that filled the valley. I had hopes that I could escape the suffocating air by riding to 5600 feet above sea level. The last time I was at Biggie the air was clear and the sky was a deep blue hue with only a tinge of gray smoke in the air. 

I knew this time it would be different.

Traffic in our tourist-soaked valley was heavy as usual when I rolled away from my home in the middle of the morning.  In the last month, the amount of cars and traffic on the road has increased exponentially. I ached to escape the swarm of campers, vans, buses, and trucks that inundated the roadway. Not to mention the cars, automobiles of all shapes and makes, filled the lanes as I slowly cruised to the bridge across Okanagan Lake. The bridge, the dreaded W. R. Bennett bridge, was backed up the hill and it was a painfully slow commute across the hazy waters of the lake. 

Twenty agonizing minutes later I climbed the last hill out of town and felt a release as I left the last set of traffic lights in my rearview mirrors. My bike felt impatient beneath my thighs and I had to restrain my urge to open the throttle as I passed a motorhome crawling up the hill towards the mountain passes on Highway 33. Smoke still clung to the hills around me and I could barely see the mountain across the valley.

I shut out the thick air in my mind and focused on the road in front of me.

The first pure adrenaline rush I felt was when I hit the switchback ten minutes out of town. I leaned my machine onto its side and rolled open the throttle to accelerate out of the corner. My tires are four inches wide but I only needed the outside inch to grip the pavement. I danced with the road and my energy and mood soared the further I went.  I climbed away from the dreariness of a smoke-filled valley and searched ahead… hoping to leave the smoke behind.

A myriad of corners and a spattering of traffic stood between me and the exit to Big White road. My cheeks almost hurt from the smile on my face as I reached the final twisties before the turn-off. I giggled to myself as I leaned my machine around the final corners and slowed into the turning lane. By this time I had forgotten the smoke and all my other problems.

I connected with the road, my bike, and my spirit.

The pavement to the mountain was empty and beckoned my sense of excitement. I urged my machine into the first set of hairpin turns, scraped my pegs, and leaned the bike back over. Fresh asphalt greeted me and my rubber stuck to it like a magnetic force. Back and forth I wound my way skyward. 

It was a release and a joy as I pulled into the village of Big White. Smoke still shrouded the world and it was an eerie feeling seeing the haze cover the top of the ski runs. It was surreal…It also felt peaceful.

The silence of the mountain in the middle of the week was a balm to my soul. I stopped my machine and parked at my job site. I stretched my arms into the air and cursed my aging body. Why was I so sore from a short ride like that. 

The day passed quickly and I saw the smoke drift off the tops of the buildings, then in the haze, I began to see the Monashees in the distance. I’m not sure when but the mountains came clearer into view and the sky opened into a blue colour, I could breathe again.

I called my honey and told her to come on up, the smoke was not around at 5600 feet. BC is so ridden with wildfires, who knew how long the clear skies would last. 

Not long enough apparently…

As darkness crept over our mountain paradise so too did the suffocating forest fire smoke. Thankfully the fires are a long way away and Big White remained out of danger. 

The next morning we awoke to hazy skies once again. In the distance, we could barely make out the Monashee Mountain range. It was better than in the valley where visibility was so low airplanes weren’t landing or taking off. 

I bid farewell to my wife who thought she would stay at Big White and work in the peace and tranquility of the village. Even if it was a smoky village.

I eased myself onto my steel horse and danced my way to town. When I got back into the Okanagan Valley the smoke thinned out and by the time I was home a steady south wind was pushing the worst of the vapours away from Westbank. I could breathe clearly as I hopped off my machine and parked it at my house.

I laughed at the irony as I called Krista to let her know the smoke has cleared at home…