Australian Adventure: Log 6

That night was one of the worst I’ve ever experienced. The heat was relentless, the humidity was just gross and there was no breeze to cool down the camper. Still suffering from heat stroke, not able to sleep in the heat, I lay in bed sweating profusely. It really is gross, no mater what I do, I can’t stop sweating, its like I’m in the middle of a hard summers run, but I’m just lying in bed, creating a pool underneath. I pull out a towel to lay on and another for the pillow to save some kind of hygenic sanity, but the water is coming out faster than I can replace it.

It is a night from hell, and the sun just couldn’t rise fast enough. I didn’t get one wink all night, and all I wanted to do is get up and sweat somewhere else, other than in my bed. Like a cruel trick, the sun breaks just as the early morning temperatures come to a non-sweating level, bumping them right back up again. Enough is enough, I’m getting up. My head still aches from the heat stroke and my energy is at zero as a meander over to the washrooms for a quick shower. It feels great to get under some cold water, but all the washing is for not as I’m a sweaty mess as soon as a make it back to the trailer. All its good for is taking off the layers of old sunscreen, bug spray and previous perspirations in turn for fresh layers

It’s an early run out to an airstrip about 50km out of Townsville, we are greeted by the airstips caretaker, an eccentric old guy named Roy, who amusses us with all the anecdotes we could ever ask for. Then when he’s not chuckling out a story, he’s “whooping” with amazement at everything he sees. He’s a character to say the least. Glen and Mark are setting up the Paramotors for their first flights. However, it wouldn’t take long for drama to ensue as Marks first take off is late and sketchy at best. He clips a tall bush at full throttle, and circles around the airstrip looking rather uncontrolled. Then he makes a dart for the ground, not letting up his speed and crashes into the ground at nearly 50 kmh. Craig runs to the crash site while I get the money shot on video, problem was the sun was obscuring the screen and missed the whole shot. Regardless, Mark is on his feet, just a couple bruises to tell he had just fallen out of the sky. The issue was a mirror strapped to his wrist to check his fuel levels. It had become tangeled in his steering and brake lines on takeoff, and sent him on an uncontrollable ride into the ground. However, he’s all fine and after a couple flights, both pilots know what needs changing and what’s good to go.

Headed back to town, its still early in the morning, however, with the sun much higher in the sky, I can feel the heat stroke soaking back in. I’ve had a camel back hanging from my mouth for nearly 24-hours now, and I’m already on litre number 4 of water today. A headache, bit of nausea and very little energy had me and Craig moping around the site, slowly loading up the truck and camper to move out to the airstrip that night, so that the pilots can take off first thing in the morning and we can hit the road.

Arriving back at the airstrip, We’re greeted by Roy once again, and yet another couple stories distract him as we set up camp next to a barn. I start cooking up some sausages for dinner while darkness falls, multi-tasking as I set up a camera to shoot a spectacular lightning storm that his floating in from the west. Glen and Mark are making last minute modifications to the paramotors before we all sit down to eat dinner and watch the spectacular light show going off in the distance. A full moon and clear sky behind us shines more than enough light for us to eat. It looks as though the storm won’t quite make it to us, then a few minutes later, we see that it is spreading out to the sides, and an arm of cloud has actually reached around the back of us, almost like a hook, reeling us into the storm. A quick cleanup and we’re off to bed; I throw a towel over the hole in the roof above my bed, just in case it rains. in the darkness, then a quick clean up and off to bed.

Out here the temperature is much cooler, less humidity and a breeze being sucked in by the storm is making form one of the most comfortable nights yet. I’m just about to fall asleep when… CRACK… the inside of the trailer lights up as a streak of lightning strikes somewhere very close. All of a sudden, the silent streaks of lightning we were watching earlier were now upon us with the upmost fiery. Sheet lightning fills the sky, Buckets of rain begin to fall, and the trailer begins to shake with the force of high winds. At first nothing is coming in as we have all the windows open to cool the camper down. Then, water starts to spray in from the left side, and Craig and I close it up. Then the wind picks up even more, one of the paramotors just outside topples over and I notice a light in the garage. Glen has dragged his tent into the barn then runs out to save the paramotors in the driving rain. Craig in nothing more than his underwear, bolts out the door to help, quickly returning completely soaked, while I’m trying to zipper up the right side as the wind has changed. Then the trailer begins to rock back and forward, the wind pushing it, the walls bubbling in like some great force on the other side wants to get at us as the lightning continues to streak all around us, great booms of thunder quickly follow. Somewhere out in the tree’s, Mark was still in his hammock, likely getting rocked around more than us.  I jump back up into my bed, the angle of the rear window is currently enough to keep the rain out, at least for now. However, the tear in the fabric roof above my head is giving up the ghost as the towel has blown away and water begins to stream down next to my head. I spend several more minutes maneuvering my mattress and laying down another towel to soak up what was getting in, but it was a fruitless attempt.

Mercifully, the crashes of thunder became more and more distant, and the rain eased to a slight shower to nothing at all, and the bright full moon showed its face once again. With a mattress only slightly damp, I could now get some much needed and earned sleep. Our introduction to the expedition proper was official and something we will not soon forget. The boys will be in the sky for the first leg in the morning.

Australian Adventur: Log 5

Still in a shiver, I’ve watched the sun come up, unable to sleep in the cold damp humid camper. The rest stop we laid up in was quite a nice large park with a pond in the middle. Several different kinds of birds scoured the ground in search of their early morning breakfast while a thick eerie fog hung in the humid air. Enough is enough, I’m getting up and going to have myself a bird bath over in the washrooms, grab my towel and go for a walk in the early morning fog as the others sleep. Walking past the pond full of vegetation and wildlife, my mind can’t help but realize that I’m now getting into crock country, and my senses are on high alert, even though I know there is little danger. A quick splash, wash and dry and I’m a new man heading back to the camper.

The rest of the crew are now rolling out of bed, getting ready for a long days travel towards Townsville, 1200 kilometres away. As we hit the road, the fog lifts and the blazing sun beats down, temperature shooting north of 30-degrees and it isn’t even 8 in the morning. While the rest of the crew are basking in the heat, my Nordic blood is reacting in a much different manner. The refreshed cleanliness of my morning wash turns into a mid-morning mess of sweat and burning skin. I figured a day spent in the car wouldn’t require slapping on the sun block for at least a couple more hours, oh how wrong I was.

As is becoming a morning ritual, we find a McDonalds in Bundaburg for a bit of breakfast and short jaunt of Facebook and blog updating. Then it’s back on the road heading north, where more heat and humidity lies in wait. Now with sunscreen on, it doesn’t seem to matter, with the sun beating down at an angle; my left arm is a slave to the unrelenting rays. Stuck in my seat, the Nissan just keeps getting hotter and hotter, and word of stopping on a beach a ways up the coast is a refreshing sound as I sweat away, only the hot breeze coming through the window keeping me sane.

As we work our way north, the scenery change is magnificent. The lush tropical hills of Surfers Paradise fads into the wide open expanses of savannah, wide open flat country with large trees sparsely spread throughout, with low pointed mountains far off in the distance, it’s a mixture of the African savannah and coastal mountains of Asia. By 2 pm, I’m working my third litre of water, and it occurs to me that I haven’t gone to the washroom yet.

Soon, we come across sand dunes, and just beyond the beach, and we pull over for a much needed dip, four men peeling themselves out of the hot stinky Nissan. The ocean never looked so good, it’s just a shame it’s so far away. We hit at the height of low tide, and the long shallow beach stretched on for kilometres, a refreshing dip a frustratingly harsh hike away. So, a quick moment to unwind on the beach, and we are back into the stink box for another 8-hours.

By the time it was my turn to drive, darkness had fallen, and reaching Townsville today was just not going to happen. As fatigue took its toll, I searched for a rest stop to spend the night. However, it would take another hour before we would find anything, and in our desperation, a truck stop would have to do. However, the Nissan began to run rough pulling into the stop, stalling several times when jumping on the clutch, a new challenge is likely ahead.

I wake up in another sweaty mess, just wanting to get out of bed, very little sleep as big diesel rigs pass by all night. However, a glorious sunrise gives some beauty to an otherwise uninspiring truck stop. Back on the road, it only takes us a couple hours to reach Townsville, a nice tropical city on the ocean that wraps around a large plateau. It’s a beautiful city, and we find a caravan park right on the ocean. Ah, we’ll get that ocean swim after all. “Nope, there’s stingers in the water there, the closest swimming area is down the coast,” utters the attendant at the park. Damn.

We set up, and do final checks on all the equipment and electronics giving Glen and Marks issues, while the truck is giving me and Craig stress as well. The humidity here is ridiculous and the temp is well over 30, how far I have no idea, and I don’t want to know, however, it all hit me in an instant, lifting a load into the roof rack. All of a sudden my head goes light, and my heart begins to race. I know exactly what going on and stumble over to the tap to douse my head and body with water, which doesn’t make me any wetter than my already sweat drenched cloths and take in as much water as I my stomach can handle. My energy level plummets as heat overtakes my body. “I’m out,” I comment as I stumble over to the shade of a tree. The heat finally got me, I’d been battling it since I landed two weeks ago, and now I lay exhausted and useless against a tree, as mosquitos attack every inch of my body; a camel back tube constantly hanging from my mouth.

Australian Adventure: Log 4

Now based in Worongary, a small town in and around Surfers Paradise, we now have the crew together. Mark, the team leader and Craig, the team mechanic, have already been in town for a couple days and had even already procured transportation, a rugged Nissan Patrol 4WD that ran off LPG, that’s propane for you North American folks. The other pilot, Glen, still hadn’t come in from the rains, stuck in Toowoomba. However, the floods had subsided and he would be in the next day, soaking wet, gear wet right through. With the crew together, we did a tourist drive through Surfers Paradise, a real paradise, which is actually full of surfers. In fact, the entire city seems to be void of any real commercial or retail services other than beachside restaurants, coffee shops and surf shops. The whole city seems to be residential high rises full of surfers. We were staying at Marks wife’s nephews house, which he, Nam and his wife Devo, graciously lent us in our bid to get ready for the trip

Soon the epic rains subsided and the procurement of materials began. A camper trailer was purchased out in Ipswich to keep us all out of the baking Outback sun when on the road. The paramotors, camera’s and flight data recorders were all late getting shipped and didn’t arrive until after the start date of February 1^st. Rather annoying, however, we needed the extra time anyways to sort out all the logistics. Running all over Nerang, Surfers Paradise, Brisbane and pretty much the whole Gold Coast we slowly got decaling, roof rack, Bull bar and some little mechanical issues sorted with the Nissan. The local paramotor club help us out greatly, with Gary giving me and Glen additional bedrooms at his house, Ben offering up some helpful mechanical advice tuning in the motors. Fabien, who runs a pet accessories distribution gave us floor space at his warehouse to store and work on all the equipment and everyone gave us some great advice in traversing and flying over the terrain that would soon follow.

It all finally came together on the February 4^th, with the motors in and tuned up, and all the equipment washed and packed away into the Nissan and Camper, we left Worongary for Townsville, and the start of our record attempting adventure. Leaving late in the evening, the first leg of our 1,500 km trip only took us to a couple hundred kilometres past Brisbane, to a nice little rest area along a now empty Pacific Coast Highway. An interesting stop for dinner at a prior rest stop just before a local theme park, “Aussie Land,” where an equally interesting bar stood tall along the roadside, like five-stories tall. Walking into the ground floor, hard rock music blared over the speakers for the three guys that were playing pool in the corner. A walk up a spiral wood staircase took us to a second level, where there was just additional seating room. Up several more flights of stairs, we finally came to the top floor, where we could finally order some food. The overpriced dinner wasn’t the best; however, eating high up on the balcony, the cooler air was nice refreshment to the heated confines of the Nissan under the hot Aussie sun.

The day was so hot that night I didn’t bother unpacking my sleeping bag, wishing for a cool breeze. Craig and I took the two pullout beds in the camper, while Glen set up a tent and Mark strung a camping hammock up into some nearby trees. As with my experience here in mid Australia, the humidity really rises at night, so while the temperature may go down, it actually feels hotter than the daytime, making sleep a hard and nasty affair. Crawling into bed, I was already a bit wet with sweat, and getting to sleep was a bit of a challenge with the heat trapped in the camper. At some time during the night I woke up, shivering and near hypothermia as the temperature had dropped during the night, but the humidity stayed up, layering everything in thick dew, including me. My sleeping back packed away deep in the truck, I toughed it out, throwing some socks on and covering myself with a towel to stay warm, hopefully daylight comes soon.

Australian Adventure: Log 3

Camping on the beach in my converted Toyota Landcruiser, I was up at 3 AM to hopefully find that the emergency services crews had cleared the three separate flooded sections of the highway. To my excitement, I breezed through with no issues; however, one of the crews told me that the highway was still flooded several hundred kilometers up, and that I may want to try an inland route if I had any hope of making Brisbane. However, they said it with a chuckle, making me think my chances were slim at best. Stopping off at another Information outlet, I picked up a local map and planed my route. From Kyogle I would make my way north to the Lindesay Mountain pass in hopes that it was high enough ground to stay uncovered on my way to Beaudesert. However, as I left the town, the rain was falling harder than I’ve ever seen rain fall and more of the landscape was under water than not.

It didn’t take long to find a familiar sight; traffic signes, caution signs and a roadway that sank into the murky depths of the flooded low lands. However, this time there were no Emergency Services Crew standing guard, and measuring the roadside indicators, I knew that this body of water was only about a foot deep, even if it was travelling across the road with some velocity. With the speed of the water, I nosed in much more cautiously this time, not worried about depth, but of the possibility that the road surface was washed away underneath. After a good 15-minutes and several hundred meters of water crossed, I was on the far shore and shooting north once again.

 This was a situation that would show itself two more times as I crossed the water logged low-lands, however, my wary disposition turned positive as I left the farmlands and began to lift up into the lushest green tropical rain forest I’d ever seen. Massive tall standing eucalyptus and Gum trees where surrounded by shorter fern trees with a forest floor packed full of yet even more ferns. The gentile winding country road was already quite pleasant working its way through the hills before the forest, however, once in the forest, the nature of the road changed quite radically.

With the rain pouring down, the Lindesay road began to jerk and kick its way through the thick undergrowth. Long open bends quickly turned to sharp narrow bursts that wound up into the mountains, the forest spilling out over the road with the weight of the water pouring down. However, that cruel bitch, Mother Nature, wasn’t done with me yet. About 20-kilometres up the road, a large pile of red mud had obscured the roadway in front of me. This time, 4-Low was locked in and the increased ride height saw me not only safely over the 100-meters of dirt in front of me, but another nasty washout shortly down the road.

As I began to descend down the East side, the rain began to become more and more violent, and having been through this situation for the last few days, I knew that I was now in a race with the water to get down to the lowest point. Before I knew it, the tropical rain forest was being replaced with open meadows as the road continued to wind just a viciously down through the undulating and hilly topography, however, still lined with several layers of trees to keep the corners blind. What wasn’t blind anymore were the rather serious drop-offs that now lined the left side of the road. With no barriers to save me if I locked up a wheel, my slow speeds in the 4x4 allowed me to momentarily look away from the road, and straight down a 200-metre drop. All of a sudden, this road, race with Mother Nature and situation just got a lot more serious.

Finally I broke out of the trees and into the meadows, although I was still racing the water down the mountain. Great rivers of water were now flowing across the roadway and undermining the side edges. I soon came to a bridge signed “Tamrookum Creek bridge #7.” Having crossed over several bridges before, I was hoping that these numbers would be going up, however I was not very surprised to find “Tamrookum Creek bridge #6” only a short distance down the road. The race was on for “Tamrookum Creek bridge #1” as that will likely be the lowest in the rapidly flattening out terrain, and the most likely to be covered by flood waters. The suspense built as my fears were coming true, each bridge was getting a little lower to the ground, the water getting a little higher as the countdown continued.

Finally I rounded a sharp corner, spraying water to both sides of the road, to find that “Tamrookum Creek bridge #1” was still over the water, at least just as I rocketed over top, crossing the finishing line. I had felt like I had just won a long distance marathon with mother nature, and I really couldn’t ask for a better battle ground for the fight to take place. Despite not having a machine that would give me the greatest driving pleasure on such a road, I never would have found it if it wasn’t for the fording and off-road abilities of my Britz 4WD camper. Thank goodness I did have it, as this was one of the most epic roads I’ve driven yet.

The pressure was off, and I could now meander my way to Brisbane, only a short, and finally dry, 150-kilometres. I arrived at my destination, the home of Marks nephew… kinda… inlaw, who has graciously put up the team. Both Mark and mechanic Craig, my fellow ground crew member are waiting, and they even have the vehicle that we will be traveling in around Australia, a beat up old Nissan Patrol. After three days on the road, I finally get a well-earned shower, and can finally relax as we wait for Glen, the fourth team member who wasn’t so lucky getting through the washed out mess I had just endured.

Australian Adventure: Log 2

My relaxed sleep at the truck pullout was sound, but short. Before the sun had even had a chance to send some rays over the hilltops, I could start to hear a slight hiss, and began rummaging around the camper looking for a gas or air leak. Now I was becoming frustrated, now fully awake, trying to find the noise that was get louder and louder. It wasn’t until I broke out through the rear doors that I realized it was emanating from the jungle wall that I was parked up against. As the sun rushed up into the sky, the buzzing sound coming from the forest had grew to the point that it was nearly deafening. Sleep was no longer an option, time to make my way north.

I’m to be in Brisbane by the 28^th to drop off the rental 4WD Camper at the airport, however, I’m told by the team leader, Mark, who is already there, that my chances are slim in arriving on time, as torrential summer rains have cut off the North from the South completely. I spark up the Landcruiser, and decide to take my chances anyways.

Slipping off the main highway, I make my way up the coastal road, and it’s not long before the clouds begin to darken, and the rain to begin. Winding my way through the coastal hills, I’m greeted with some spectacular ocean views, storm driven waves crashing on the rocky shores. The rains turn from steady, too hard, to driving, to “holly crap the roads going to wash away.” Windshield wipers at maximum, I only get split second glimpses of the road before another wave of water crashes against the windshield. My pace is slow, and good thing, as my first glimpse of a Kangaroo is short before it disappears out of vision under my hood. Not to worry, I only got his tail, and he didn’t look worse for wear as he bounded off into the forest, however, if my senses weren’t heightened enough before, they were maxed out now.

However, it didn’t seem to matter. With the rain letting up for a few short minutes, I was driving along an easy straight, when SMACK, something small and feathery bounced off my windshield right in front of my face. If the poor bird that darted into my path didn’t die on impact, it certainly did on the windshield of the poor sucker riding my ass behind, witnessing the kill shot in the rear view mirror. “Bloody hell where did that come from?” SMACK…. AGAIN! This time it was one shot one kill as yet another bird shot from the forest directly into the metal bumper. Ok, this is getting ridiculous now, just as I pass a “Caution, Koala’s crossing next 22km.” I’m thinking to myself, “my animal loving, soon to be sister in-law is going to kill me, as I slowly kill every cute little animal I come across. My first glimpse of a Koala better not be by pealing one off my front differential.”

Simply following road side signs north along the old Pacific highway, I’d stop in at information booths to for a quick map of the area, and word of the roads ahead. After yet one more bird killing, I stopped in Urunga, for some coffee and word of the road ahead. Other travelers coming from the north said that the road was flooded over in three different spots; however, the State Emergency Services were still going to allow single lane traffic for the next hour. If I wanted to get through I needed to be north of Coffs Harbour in the next hour. I jumped in the truck and shot north yet again, cursing the torrents of rain falling from the sky. I wanted to make sure I made it to Brisbane in time to drop of the camper, so not to incur any overdrawn fees or expenses.

Blasting through Coffs Harbour, my stomach aching from 12-hours without food, the rain was relentless. Pushing up the highway to the town of Woolgoolga, my fears came true. Traffic came to a stop, and no one was moving. One kind motorist was telling the rest of the line the issue. “The roads flooded over, they may have it open around 6pm.” For some reason, this wasn’t good enough for me. I swung around, pulled over and studied some maps for alternate routes. A couple side roads pushed through to Orah Way, another smaller highway that could detour me through to Grafton. Slipping up one of the connecting roads, I’m not alone in my quest for Grafton, however, to all our misery, the came to a quick end, with a mountain or water rolling over it. Quick detour, and a shot up the next road, this one is covered as well, but not as violent. There is already someone out in the middle wading up to his waist in the murky flood water. So another adventurous soul with a 4WD and I try our luck.

With the Nissan Patrol ahead of me making it through, I follow a short minute later. With the transfer case set in 4WD, I ease into the water and get a good wave going off the front bumper. As the depth increases, I hold a good steady speed behind my bow wave, following it up to the opposite shore. A short bit of uncovered roadway leads to another flooded out section, and in I go again. However, this time the current is much stronger, the depths much deeper, and the truck is starting to drift off to the right around three quarters of the way through. A little counter steering and a slight increase of throttle had me straighten out and climb out onto another shore. Back in 2WD, and I’m feeling pretty good about myself, that is until I see the Nissan Patrol that was in front of me, coming head on. Damn, yet another valley blocked.

Back across the two crossing I had just forded, I pushed back to Woolgoolga for some much needed food. After some map studying, and listening to the weather reports, it seems as though all attempts would be fruitless tonight, there is just no getting north. So I head back to the traffic stop, were the services crew told me maybe around 2AM they might allow 4WD’s to ford up the highway. So, I head back, found a lovely beech to pull over at, and fell sound to sleep, finally getting the hypnotic sound of crashing waves that I had wanted the night before. My alarm was set for 2 AM, to attempt another strike northward.

Australia Adventure: Log 1

“This is your Captain speaking…. Uhhh… We have a little issue with one of the rear doors not sealing… Uhhh… Unfortunately we’re going to have to move over to the service area for the engineers to look at it…. Uhhh… shouldn’t be but a couple of hours.”

Being late for my seating call onto Qantas’ and for that matter, the world’s largest commercial passenger liner, the Airbus A380-800, I was last to arrive in my area of the plane, meaning my backpack would have to be shoved under the rather cool carbon fibre seats, leaving no room for my feet. By the time we finally lifted up into the air, my legs were already numb with the lack of circulation. Fifteen hours later, and very little in the way of sleep, I worked my way through customs, bought a SIM card for a borrowed cell phone and caught a cab to the Britz Campervan rental company.

I was renting a 4WD camperized truck, a very capable Toyota Landcruiser Troop carrier with diesel engine and an air snorkel for the engine, something that would come in handy down the road. But the brilliance of this 4WD was the camperized rear section. The long bench down the one side of the truck held storage underneath, and then slid over to become a rather comfortable bed. The other side held a cabinet full of pots, pans, cutlery, gas stove, sink and fridge. The truck even came equipped with bedding linens and pillows. The roof could be unlatched and raised to give standing room in the back, while a series of boards slid rearward creating a bunk up in the raised tented section. It would be perfect for what I wanted to do, get out and meander my way up Australia’s East coast, stopping off on beaches or scenic parks to bed down for the night.  

The only problem was, “Sir, your credit card has been declined.” While I had a good chat with my lovely fiancé that going away for two and a half months, five months before our wedding was fine, she decided to deactivate my credit card while I was in the air. After some calls to the credit card company and to my lovely fiancé, a deal was worked out and the Landcruiser was turned over to me only a bit late.

With nothing more than a small map of the city taken from a travel brochure, I wanted to see the Harbour Bridge, then make my way north out of the city to find a suitable place to bed down for the night. I was on day two without sleep, in a foreign country driving on the other side of the road, and I just wanted to stop traveling. After crossing the impressive Harbour Bridge, catching sight of the Sydney Opera House, I made my way north on Highway #2. However, by this time, I was beyond the reaches of my little tourist map, and was driving blindly north – I think. Highways began to split, traffic began to fill the streets for the rush hour and rain poured from the sky like I’ve never seen before. Some aimless wondering down traffic arteries, I noticed a sign that told me I was only 10 km from Olympic Park. Knowing that Olympic Park is more in town than out, my fears were realized when I crested a hill to gaze upon the Olympic Stadium and Sydney Harbour. I had done a complete horse shoe from the Harbour Bridge – Doh.

With directions from an IKEA clerk taking a smoke break, I turned 180, and was back on track, following the signs to Newcastle. Finally I hit the Pacific Coast Freeway and was out of the city, heading north. Only, the Pacific Coast Highway doesn’t follow along the Pacific coast, but several km inland. Being a typical freeway, there was nowhere to turn off, and my exhaustion was getting the better of me, so the romantic stop by the beach would be replaced with a truckers stop on the side of the highway. The hypnotic crash of rolling waves faded into the roar of truckers flying by in the middle of the night. Maybe tomorrow night I'll be in a nicer environment.

Australian Adventure: Let the Adventure Begin

My next great travel adventure has begun, and I haven't even left the country yet. Winter finally came to Kelowna just as it was time to leave for Vancouver and my flight down under, where the 40-degree heat of mid-summer await. However, the drive to Vancouver was quite the opposite, with compact snow covered roads the entire way to Hope, blinding fog, drifting snow, high winds and temperatures that had warmed to -20 over the connector.



Our trip was detoured before had even begun as the Coquihalla highway was riddled with compact snow, ice and ice rain warnings along with the inevitable hoard of accidents that follow when BC drivers take to the highways in such conditions. However, the excitement would begin shortly after leaving the house, when the passenger side wiper went limp as a salty, sandy mess was dropped on the windshield from traffic in front. To make things worse, the driver’s side wiper began to lift halfway through its arch, only completing 50% of its task. With several stops at gas stations to make use of their squeegees, we made our way to the visual safety of the snow packed Connector, only to run head long into the fog pack that usually socks in the Pennask Summit this time of year.



However, as the Coquihalla was congested with the remnants of stupidity, we opted to take the 5a south to Princeton, connecting to the #3 to Hope. This would add an additional hour and a half to our day, but it would be well worth it as the 5a was a winter wonderland with nearly no traffic, much nicer than following the sheep over to the Coq. Snow began to fall and the wind would soon pick up, however, the wounded wipers would not be needed as the flakes were frozen enough to bounce off the windshield. However, this would change as well began to descend into the warmer Fraser Valley, with salt trucks in full attack, the road was covered in a 10 cm thick layer of slush, and travelling behind a salt truck made visibility a struggle. The wipers would have to come on, and it didn’t take long for the passenger side arm to come out of alignment, in danger of pinning the driver’s side mid-arch, with some loving coercion, Steph leaned out of the window into the salty spray and freed the limp wiper, giving us temporarily limited vision once again.



After a battle of vision, some slipping and sliding and a hand brake turn thrown in for good measure, we made it to Maple Ridge, my short stop over before the my, where the real adventure will begin. Climate shock recovery will most likely be my fist challenge with the expected 60-degree change in weather.

For more information about the expedition and the cause, please visit theflight4life.com.