August 5, 2022 Round Trip To The Mountain.

“Hey, good morning!” Cooksters voice greeted Barrman on the phone. Cookster seemed to have a mixture of surprise and excitement to it.

“Good morning buddy, I hope to be able to leave early. I just have to do a quick repair on my boat.” Barrman said to his friend on the phone. It was 8:30 am and they were going to ride to Big White. It looked like they were going to be able to leave earlier than expected as long as the repair was fast. It was only three screws and a plug. What could go wrong? 

With Barrman and mechanics, plenty can go wrong.

The boater went to the back of the boat and unhooked the existing trim sensor and plugged in the new one. Suddenly the trim-up stopped working.

Barrman panicked.

What the heck was wrong why was the trim no longer working?

He called the mechanic. Of course, Barrman failed to mention he had not yet actually screwed the part to the boat.

He called his buddy up to give him the bad news.

“Is it grounded?” Cookster asked Barrman. 

Grounded? What did he mean grounded of course it was grounded…

So the Captain of his own destruction hooked up the boat and dragged it to the shop. Where the mechanic proceeded to screw it to the boat and then try it out.  Boom the trim up and down worked and the problem was solved. Only an hour wasted.

“I thought maybe I should have come helped you…” Cookster looked over at Barrman as they met up only an hour behind schedule. It was 10:30 am and now traffic was thick on Highway 97. Did they really want to drive into the thick of it?

“You know what they say, haste makes waste…” Barrman shrugged, he needed to let go of his angst and move forward with the day. “I think we should go south, Cookster. I don’t want to go sit in twenty minutes of bridge traffic even if it isn’t a scorcher today.” Barrman looked at his friend. His instincts told him to turn back and head the other way than they planned. 

“I don’t know, what time will we be back?” 

“Maybe 5:30 or 6, but what does it matter? I want to hit the road and get moving.” Barrman had a feeling if they went across the bridge and up to Big White they might end up just going up and back. The last two or three times he’d planned on doing the loop through Osoyoos, he’d just gone up and back. If they start by going to Osoyoos first there was no way to change course once they started.

So the two motorcycle buddies headed south on Highway 97. Then they would go east to Rock Creek and back up highway 33 to Big White. and finally back home at the end of the day. Maybe a few back roads along the way.

So they did.

The first back road was in Summerland. Cookster lead the way and they went down Bottleneck drive. The winding easy paced narrow backroad began in the main street of town and then meandered south through the rolling hills in town. Then it passed a series of wineries and cideries before it spat the pair of motorcyclists back onto highway 97. 

Barrman smiled to himself as he let his buddy lead the way. He loved finding new back roads and after living in the Okanagan for the last sixteen summers he’d never found this route. 

Layers of wear and stress were peeled off Barrman’s soul as he rode his Honda ST1300 around every bend in the road. 

The two friends then wound their way above the City of Penticton and through the land of the Penticton Indian Band. The sign at the entrance to the reserve was not one of welcome. Barrman almost felt like he’d left Canada and entered a second or third-world nation when he drove his bike in the land of the true native Canadian people. 

A feeling of sorrow and dismay echoed in his helmeted head seeing the properties in such disrepair. Every generation of cars must have been left to rust in the backyard of many of the houses dotting the landscape. On the outside of the reserve properties like that would be worth millions and developed for all the wealthy people invading their native territories.

The government talks about truth and reconciliation, is reconciliation really about acknowledging the unceded territories at a speech? Or is it something else, something more tangible. Something that could actually help the plight of Canada’s first nations.

Is there something more to be done?

Soon enough the friends left the reservation and returned to Highway 97 south.

On the next detour, Barrman led the way. They went the back way onto White Lake Road just south of the turn-off to Highway 3 westbound. The Highway was closed due to wildfire.

There was a fire too close to the road, thankfully it was the only fire in the area and so far the valley had been spared the oppressive smoke which buried the province the year before.

Barrman and Cookster left the main road again and connected with another winding road. Barrman wound out his machine in the twisty corners, he leaned and shifted with the passing miles. The two riders enjoyed the road and the feeling of connection riding together brought. 

White Lake Road passed St. Andrews by the lake golf course and led to the first SETI (Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence) site in Canada. The Dominion Radio Astrophysical Observatory was a good place to stop and stretch their legs. The site is hidden from most prying eyes, there were a vast number and array of radio telescopes that pointed at the stars. They sat like circular sentinels, listening for extraterrestrial voices. Searching to give us the answer to an age-old question – are we alone?

Of course, we are not alone.

The riders climbed back on their 1300, and 1500-cc beasts and rumbled on down the road. It looped left and right and then came back to Highway 97 in the town of Oliver.

The friends then had to return to the real world full of traffic and straightaways.

I wonder if Cookster knows a back road through Osoyoos? Barrman thought to himself as he followed the semi-trailer through the vineyards. The reality was there was only one way through Canada’s warmest town. 

They stopped for fuel at the end of town. Cookster had found two gas stations that were out of fuel earlier so the boys figured they better fill up. The rider mentioned to Barrman that he wasn’t used to taking the road in this direction. It was always the other way from Big White he’d come. Strange how habits can form and when they went the other way it felt off, slightly strange.

The other thing about familiarity is knowing where to get gas. Was this the right place to fill up? The smoked Salmon and car cleaning salesgirl in the tight shorts sure made it seem like the right spot…

Time passed with the miles and they still had a couple of hours to go before they would be at their mountain home. They picked up the pace and stayed on the main road. Before they knew it they pulled up to The Road House Take Out, his friend’s food truck in Beaverdell BC. The bikers were famished and they devoured a delicious burger in the shade at a table on the side of the road.

It was great to reconnect with Saydee, someone Barrman hadn’t seen in a very long time. Facebook land is where they knew each other nowadays. It was special to see each other again in the real world.

The boys were on the home stretch.

Big White was soon in their sights. They cruised into the village to check on their mountain homes. Barrman smiled, even though it was five o’clock and thoughts of getting back to town before 6:00 had left his mind it was a victorious moment for him and his buddy Cookster. They’d ridden the loop, and there was only a forty-five-minute hop to get back into Kelowna.

Except Cookster was running on fumes.

Gas in Beaverdell would have been a good idea. Barrman’s gas tank was almost double the size of Cooksters so he never thought anything of it. The man on the bigger machine glided for all he could.

The two friends made it to the Black Mountain Gas station on Highway 33 just as they entered the city of Kelowna. They smiled at each in front of the gas pumps.

“I didn’t know if I would make it. I glided much of the way down. Oh and don’t drop your bike into too low of a gear when you are gliding. That’s what that skidding noise you heard was from.” Cookster shrugged and grinned. Relief was written all over his face.

Barrman remembered when they came to the final hairpin in the Joe Rich area of Highway 33 he had slowed right down. He looked in the mirror and Cookster’s bike skidded and jumped. he’d thought maybe he had forced his buddy to lock up the brakes except it was his bike dropping into gear. Barrman was glad it was something simple and even happier that nothing happened and they were safe back into town.

The boys separated and Barrman got all his chores done. The two riders put on 390 km and a day filled with connection. A day when what was really important in life was what it was all about. The road, friendship, and true freedom.