Having watched Peter ascend the last shrapnel-strewn section of trail to Mount Tillicum’s peak, I idled the motor, squinted up the 45-degree slope ahead, sweat dribbling down cheekbones. Thoughts ranged from, “C’mon, you’ve ridden up steeper grades than this at home,” to “Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!” Except I had never had to contend with a drop-off like this one, and mummy was cremated years ago. Plus, there was no turning around.
In my most even-toned voice, I talked myself up it: “Okay… slow start. That’s it. Very nice. Do not spin the back wheel. Steady on the throttle. Relax hand grip. Loosen core. Aim where you want to go, not at what’s trying to kill you. Easy around the big rock. No, no, no – don’t grind the front knobby on the inside trail wall or it’ll bounce you right over the edge. That’s it, hold straight. Steer with your feet, just twenty more metres, and… a final, desperate Hail Mary through the shrapnel and… I’ve made it! Not too terribly either, except the forgetting to breathe part.
And then,
the trillion-dollar mountaintop view that beggared belief.
Peter and I had seen each other once in 20 years. All I knew was that, after leaving Toronto, where he’d renovated and sold fine old houses, he and wife, Kathleen, had chosen Canmore, AB to reno another house, raise a pair of lads in the wild,
then cut further west to Revelstoke to pounce on a new dream - developing River Peak Court!
“Just get out here,” was Peter’s main refrain to me in recent years. In July, I finally did so.
First morning, Peter and Kathleen showed me around the place. Revelstoke looked like a working mountain town on the verge of something. In evidence was construction of new homes, “for sale” signs in front of existing ones and a few build-ready lots, but it lacked a gold rush feel. Thing is, Revelstoke’s not ultra-accessible by road, rail or air, so development hasn’t been at the white-hot pace of Whistler or other BC ski towns. Which has let Revy stay pretty Revy. This was a pleasant shock, having not set foot in BC since ’87, and assuming the world had discovered and ruined everything by now.
I can testify the world has not ruined Revy nor the West Koots. Not even close. Peter and Kathleen’s tour left me with a sense that for some time yet Revy would not be anything but Revy, namely
a small, friendly town surrounded by immensities of wildness.
Meanwhile, Peter and I had to ride down. This would require mastering a different set of off-roading skills than Ontario demands – subtlety with the front and rear brakes, choosing and shifting into the right gear with sufficient elegance so as not to accelerate my demise.
After all, far steeper, taller mountains await my next visit.
And, by the way, should you find yourself here, fear not, you don’t need a Husqvarna to enjoy the hell out of this place. But it helps.
