Marc Kitteringham
It was the first nice day that I had off in months. Feeling a bit restless, I hopped on the Randobeest and sped off towards whatever. I generally wanted to head north, so north I went. After battling traffic for a few minutes, and having that glorious feeling that you get when you pass a bunch of gridlocked cars, I turned onto the bike trail and started rando-toureuring up towards the lake.
I live on an island in the pacific. Sure it’s pretty close to the mainland and is pretty damn far north, as far as pacific islands go, but you’d think that the main water feature would be the endless cold of the ocean. Usually it is. Today, however, I wanted a bit of fresh water for which to sit beside and think about nothing. People don’t usually think about lakes being on islands, but on Vancouver Island there are plenty of lakes that get kind of forgotten in the shadow of the big blue. Thetis lake is one of these, sitting pretty right next to the main commuter trail that serves the greater Victoria area, it is a nice little respite from the bustling highway and excitedness of the city.
The Galloping Goose is the main connector for the suburbs surrounding Victoria. It was built on an old railcar line that used to carry people to and from work before the highway went in. Being an old railway, it is easy, wide and doesn’t have any grades or features whatsoever. There are a few beautiful tunnels of greenery, some trail-side coffee and bike shops, and that’s about it. It took me around half an hour to get to the lake trail, and I was glad to be riding in the sun again. The highway ran beside me the whole way, reminding me that I was definitely commuting and that the trail was one built with utilitarian purpose. There were no fun offshoots or short cuts, just a long straight ribbon of asphalt designed to get commuters to and from work easily.
Soon, I got to the trail -- or rather the turn off that leads to the road that leads to the parking lot that leads to the trail. It was uphill on a shoulder on the highway. It didn’t take long to get to the flat white day-use beach. There were a few bike tourists sitting on the sand, a bunch of people having a weiner roast wearing baseball caps and sleeveless t-shirts and one kid splashing in water up to his ankles. I’d heard that there were a few more trails to be found, and was itching for some schralpy dirt to ride. I followed my nose until I came to a dirt doubletrack that led deeper into the woods.
I think I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’ll probably never be a great mountain biker. I’ll be able to do some decent cross country trails, fire roads and some slightly more difficult single track, but flowing over berms, jumps and tabletops is something I’m not interested in. I’m terrified of even small-ish jumps, have no idea how to do a drop, can’t bunnyhop and frankly can’t afford to buy a bike that will allow me to even try that stuff. What I like are wide trails through beautiful scenery with some decent climbs, corners, descents and flowy dips to rip around on. This trail was just like that. It was wet from the most recent rain (the day before I think) and I got some much-needed mud on my bike. The few rocks and roots rattled my bars just enough to keep it fun, and the back wheel definitely lost grip a few times for some wahoo moments. It was great. About halfway into the trail I found an offshoot that led to a perfect sunny spot on the lake. Not one to ignore a side-trail, I promptly turned my rig around and went looking for a spot to sit for a while.
The worst part about stopping mid-ride is realizing you have to piss like crazy. Here I was, at this beautiful spot in the warm sun with serene nature all around and I couldn’t even stand still. I contemplated taking a few steps into the bush and going right there, but there were other people around (a few Australian bros who were working here for the summer were drinking beers a few hundred feet away) and it seemed a shame to go right by the lake. I hopped back on the bike and wentbit further into the bush. Five minutes later I was back for a second try at aimless ponderin’.
I’ve always liked having a destination when I ride. I’m not really the kind who goes on a loop, or goes for a work-out or for trail riding. I like the exploration factor of riding a bike. Its hard for me to pass a shortcut, or to not take the weird turn in the woods. I like getting into situations where I have to get off my bike, shoulder it, and hike back out. The best part, though, is getting to a place that feels right, stopping and having a look around. Thetis Lake was as calm as glass. There were a few people slowly meandering around on stand-up paddleboards, kayaks and one canoe, but the lake was otherwise completely undisturbed. I sat on a rock like a lizard, the sun-baked stone heating me up from below as the sun warmed from above. There was not much better. The lake itself even felt warm. Even though it was only early May, I dangled my feet into the water and was content. Places like this were the reason I roamed. I like being able to go to beautiful places for free at a pace that feels natural. Bike travel is almost perfect for this because we go at a normal human pace. There is no rush, no pressure and nothing separating you from the environment. Once you get to your destination, you’re already integrated into the setting and can just... be.
I sat. I sipped from my waterbottle (a big one, strapped to a big old growler-sized carrier) and ate some chili-infused dark chocolate. The sun was perfect, the lake flat as the water in a Bob Ross painting, but eventually I had to start making my way back home. I took another look around, gathered my gear and got back on the bike. The trail continued in the way it had, full of big dips, short-but-steep climbs, flowy undulations and fast cycle-toureur-esque riding. Eventually, it petered out next to a smooth paved road, surrounded by forest. Highlands Road is a beautiful road to ride on. It curves, climbs, drops and flows through the woods, freshly paved and perfect for riding all sorts of bicycles on. It goes through the kind of rich neighbourhood that I love riding my dirtbag self through. I don’t belong there, and I love it.
The road hooked up with the Galloping Goose again and threw me back home. I only stopped once on the way back to pick some bluebells on the side of the road.