Day 23

Looking back at fifty, I realize that Day 23 was a lesson in how quickly the road can humble you. We started in Medicine Hat with a crisp, four-degree morning that promised a beautiful day. Five minutes later, a literal 'bang' echoed across the highway—I’d picked up a three-inch screw that went straight through the sidewall of my rear tire, shredding the tube and one of my brake pads. It felt like a 'spectacular' way to start the next leg of the trip.

We spent the morning navigating Medicine Hat’s bike shops, eventually rotating my front tread to the rear and putting a fresh tire on the front. By the time we actually hit the road again, it was noon. Just outside the city, an older cyclist literally dropped his bike in the ditch to run across four lanes of traffic and give us advice. He was adamant we should head south to the States to avoid northern Ontario—an ominous piece of advice we’d hear more than once.

The ride to the Saskatchewan border was gorgeous, with the Cypress Hills rolling up to meet us from the south. The 'tabletop' flatness we expected of Saskatchewan turned out to be a myth; the terrain became a series of long, gradual hills that felt more like ocean swells. We ended the day ten kilometres north of Maple Creek, where Marlene, a wonderful lady at the visitor centre, offered us the lawn for the night. We were joined by Matthew, a solo cyclist heading to Newfoundland, and as we shared a meal at the truck stop, I felt the unique camaraderie of the road returning. We’re in a new province, and the Prairies are wide open ahead of us.

When we wake up, it is only four degrees Celsius, but it is lovely and sunny. No more than a kilometre after getting back on the Trans Canada Highway, Blue's rear tire goes flat with a bang. A three-inch screw went clear through his tire and shredded a brake pad. We find a bike store and Blue rotates his treads and installs new pads before we have lunch in a grocery store parking lot.

Not five minutes into riding, an older cyclist flags us down to give us a lot of advice, mostly suggesting we take Highway 13 through Saskatchewan and go through the United States to avoid northern Ontario. The ride to the border is fairly easy, with hills rolling up from the plains to the south—the beginnings of the Cypress Hills. I arrive at the Saskatchewan/Alberta border shortly after three o'clock.

I wait for the others at the highest point over some train tracks and, to my luck, a train appears and goes right beneath me. We finally arrive at the Saskatchewan Visitor Info centre north of Maple Creek. The lady inside, Marlene, generously offers to let us camp behind the building. Another cyclist named Matthew arrives; he is riding solo from Vancouver to Newfoundland. We go to a restaurant to trade stories and he pitches his tent at the centre as well. This is our first stint of camping since the Coquihalla Highway.