Fox Creek to Bezanson, AB
Traditional territory of the Métis and Beaver
140 km
Sunny and windy, but mostly a tailwind or crosswind
I started the day with about 60 km to Valleyview. I wasn’t sure if I would have enough water so was thrilled to find a little motel (which wasn’t even on Google Maps) near the Little Smoky River. They gave me some new bottles and we talked a bit about Newfoundland before I continued on.
“Bicycling, well,” said the old gentleman, “at least you’re beating the carbon tax.”
To be honest there were better views before Valleyview, but it still made a good stop for lunch and air conditioning before the highway turned west. On my way out of town, speeding down a hill, I got an insect in my helmet and as I tried to adjust my helmet for it to leave I got stung right on the forehead.
I was on the phone with my parents at the time. “I just got stung,” I shouted. “I’ve been stung!” And I carefully pulled over onto the gravel shoulder to take off my helmet and let the insect go. Problem was, I could still feel something stuck in my skin. It was a terrible situation; you have to imagine trying to pull out a stinger that you can’t see and that hurts if you brush it the wrong way. I finally succeeded. “I got it out,” I told my parents.
“I did not care for that.”
The southern wind was a crosswind as I continued west, but I made it to a gas station for more fresh water and dinner on a table. I chatted with its two young employees and found out that Kale’s brother was a professional rodeo cowboy. Then I found out that a rodeo was happening this weekend in Dawson Creek. After talking a bit more about breeding cattle, calculating the distance left to Dawson and taking a quick photo, I continued west—determined to make it to Dawson before the rodeo was over.
I reached the Big Smoky River as the sun was casting shadows across it. It was a tough climb back up out of the valley, and I stopped to catch a breather and photograph a few horses beside the highway. Which was one of the greatest photographic decisions ever, because no sooner had I reached the chain-up pull-out outside of Bezanson that a pickup truck stopped in front of me and a woman and a kid climbed out.
“You were photographing my horses,” she said. At first I thought it was taboo to photograph horses, but then she invited me to their farm for dinner and to spend the night. More on that later.