Darthdays – Galiano

During the first long weekend of the year it is every Vancouverites duty to stake their claim on a ferry boat to an island. The salt in my blood pulled me over to Galiano, a long spittoon of land furry with evergreens and rolling hills. The roads are long and winding and my deft little road bike took to them like bruise to a Muddbunny.

The cool winding roads unfurl my sense of adventure. The first turnoff was Ellis road. I have a coworker named Ellis whom I can’t really stand so I decided to see what a road named after him would lead me too. Hopefully it wouldn’t be to a place with annoying laughter and last minute work.

 

The road became gravel, became dirt, ended and a faint deer path that led somewhere I needed to go. I grabbed my 10lb road bike and carried it a short distance to a secret lake.

 

 

 

 

The next turnoff had “park” in the name. I love parks so I rode up it until I saw a couple locals chatting around a pickup truck. I asked them if the road led to a park. No, they said, it ends just up there, by some mighty fine donkeys .

 

 

 

 

I watched and took photos of their asses for awhile, thinking the whole time that Galiano was full of fun and adventure. Now it was time to get my pedal on. The little map I had showed that there was access to the shore aways down a bendy little road.
You might not think that road bikes are suitable for trails. The access to this adventure was perfect for my dainty little frame.

 

 

 

 

The water washes away the sandstone in round feminine curves. You can tuck easily into them resting like a small child in the crook of their mothers arms and watch the tide pools. The soap operas of hermit crabs and barnacle will pull you into their dramas for hours. If you have lost your sense of wonder, find a tide pool.
I was lost in the battle between a hermit crab and a mussle when I felt a nudge from behind. The bike was getting anxious.

 

 

 

 

The best thing about the islands is the endless ways to get around. I cannot resist a trail sign and there were plenty. I hefted my bike once again and took the trail.

 

 

 

 

I took the longest way possible up a trail that wasn’t really a trail to a place I don’t think I was supposed to go. Like all places you shouldn’t go it had great treasure at the end of it and was totally worth the hour long push up. I was tired but didn’t not feel I warranted the buzzards that were circling overhead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next stop was a place all my marshmallow roasting dreams had come true as a kid.

 

Montague Marine Park. Tight single track bellies along the shore, nosing the water, fingering bits of the Georgia straight . By this time I was 4 hr in to my ride, had carried my bike to the top of many hills and needed a nap. 45 mins later I was refreshed and ready to go.

 

 

 

So much beauty. The islands are fillied with artists, every turn is inspiring. The ocean will show you more green than a Japanese business man at a strip club. Artists and photographers clamour over each other for that perfect view that is the essence of their trade.

Even the seagulls are inspired to create works of art.

 

By the end of the day I have logged over 20 km on the bike, 5kms of hiking with the bike and a few good hours of staring into tide pools. The ferry shows up just in time for me to take another nap. Halfway through the nap, an announcement wakes us all up. The engine isn’t, working we are drifting around in neutral. The captain is not sure when it will be fixed.

Turn us around Captain, the island doesn’t want us to leave.