Where in the World is Bob?

Actually, I am in, or near, a small town called Boswell. No, there are not flying saucers: that's Roswell. This is also not really a own, more like a few houses with a collective address. It is on the east side of Kootenay Lake.

We came over today from Nelson, to the ferry across from Balfour to Kootenay Bay. Our usual morning with a ride downtown to get a coffee (after breakfast in the motel room) reinforced that this is indeed a town with the ambience, as Barry says, of downtown Vancouver. That's both a complement an

d a criticism. But the weather was nice, so we sat outside with our coffees and watched some local folks smoking outside and balancing their coffees on the top of the local garbage can. What some people will do for entertainment, eh?

(Nancy had already gone back to Castlegar to fetch some things that she had forgotten there, and had picked up some of the locally-famous borscht for our supper. She left early, and got back in time to join us for our coffee.)

Then over to the bike shop to get something for Barry, and then on our way. We went

 down to the waterfront, watched briefly some racing sculls along the water of the Kootenay River, then climbed a bit to go over what they call the Orange Bridge (also the Kootenay Bridge) to the north shore, for our trip to Balfour, about 35 km. 

There are many things which are nicer about going by bike, rather than a car. You hear the mountain streams as they come down the hills towards the roads, and eventually under them. Often, they are small, so you wouldn't see them at the speeds you travel by car, but on a bike, you can notice. You see the wildflowers: lupins, daisies, roses, vetches, even the invading broom are all in bloom and wond

erful. And you can smell the flowers as you go along, often. of course, you can also smell the sawmills, and the pulp mills, and the cars and trucks. But it is better, I think.

Along the way, we found an old abandoned gas station so that Barry could fill up his bike (see photo).

We got to the ferry just after one of them had gone. This is a free ferry, goes every 50 minutes, so we waited and read the interpretative material around the ferry dock, about the pine beetle, the ecology of the area, and some tourist stuff (those of you who know me well know that I love to read these types of signs, so it was a pleasure for me).

The trip across to the other side took about 35 minutes, and was lovely, with views both up and down the lake, and snow-capped mountains in most directions. We talked with a Ger

man couple who were on their first trip to Canada, a

nd shared some insights with them.

Lunch after we docked, then of course uphill on the bikes away from the dock. Some interesting small towns along the way, including an ashram which was three kilometres off the highway, and an artists' community. But mostly what has become the common up and down roads, with less good pavement and almost no shoulder now to ride on. Fortunately the traffic was light.

And so was habitation. We had planned to go about 30 km after the ferry, and then find a place. This turned out to be less easy than we had hoped. However, Nancy came through again, with a large cabin with two bedrooms, a kitchen and bath, for $73, including taxes. Not bad!

So we settled in with our neighbours, three men with foul mouths and a propensity to start their campfires with gasoline; but a nice golden retriever dog to pet. Borscht and salad for supper, watched the CBC news (George Carlin died too soon: what a loss). And then to bed.

Tomorrow we will hopefully go past Creston and get to a town called Yahk, which I kind of remember from when I did a trip by car through here with Patrick, about four years ago. And then on to Cranbrook, to renew acquaintances with an old friend, Rocke Robertson (he fell off his chair when I called him today).