Kettle Valley Rail Trail Day 4:
All the way to Midway
We got going from our makeshift campsite relatively early on day four. We had found a bit of a clearing bordering the West Kettle River just off the grade for the night, but as there was no table to be had, we decided to try to make it to a nearby rest stop on the highway for breakfast. The kids played on the totes while we packed up the tent and gear and we all got back on the trail.
We hadn’t travelled more than a few kilometers before we came to a rushing run-off creek that had swamped the grade. Anna went back in the trailer with Alice and, as he was wearing sandals and I shoes, Leroy ferried us all across. Poor fellow – the water was ice cold – and he crossed it back and forth three times. I was happy we had camped where we did – I wouldn’t have been up to crossing that at dusk.
We slogged along the trail – keeping our eyes out for the elusive rest area and tossing around the idea of jumping on to the highway so we wouldn’t miss it. At the time, the highway was also on the other side of Big Goat creek – more of a river in the spring – so we were also looking for a bridge. Our backroads mapbook was a bit too large in scale and there hadn’t been any definitive landmarks since Beaverdell so we weren’t really sure where exactly we were. The trail was pretty good at this point when we came across a forest service road bridge we stopped to look at where we were and decide what to do. The road was marked as Chenier FSR so we finally knew where we were – unfortunately not as far down the trail as we had thought. The rest area marked on the map was still around 12km down the road and we hadn’t had any breakfast. We parked on the bridge and pulled out some trusty bean bars to keep us going, took a few photos and decided to stick with the trail. Turned out to be a good choice.
The trail was still good and as we rounded a few bends the land on the right started to fall away lower again and another creek – the Kelly river – came in from the west. There was a bridge on the trail over the West Kettle, and we were treated to a twisty canyon view where the two rivers met. We took the time to take some pictures, though they don’t really do it justice.
Rhone
As it often was, the trail condition deteriorated after the view, becoming sandier and loose, with the occasion large rock or two for good measure. The highway was just up the embankment from us and we could hear the cars whipping by as we puttered along. At least while we were on the grade they weren’t coming up fast behind us. And the grade was a lot flatter than the road, which I appreciated. Not long after the trail came up an embankment and joined a road. As Leroy was looking for traffic, he caught a large rock with his front tire and managed to bend his front rim. Bother. On the upside, it looked like the trail became the road for a section – the Blythe-Rhone road we had been waiting for.
“Is this paved?!” I exclaimed. This was the first pavement we had seen since we had peeled onto the rail trail in Penticton. And it was even a paved downhill. With a road bike. We could coast. It was glorious. We cruised along – finally again out of our bottom gears – and thoroughly enjoyed the farmland scenery.“Is this paved?!” I exclaimed. This was the first pavement we had seen since we had peeled onto the rail trail in Penticton. And it was even a paved downhill. With a road bike. We could coast. It was glorious. We cruised along – finally again out of our bottom gears – and thoroughly enjoyed the farmland scenery.
Rhone was another station on the old railway. Its mostly a collection of houses and farms now, without much (other than the pavement, from a cyclists perspective) that would make it standout. It does have one minor attraction – Paul Lautard’s cyclist rest stop. You really can’t miss it – there’s a full size replica caboose marked “Kettle Valley Railway” on the side of the road. A loose cable across the driveway keeps the cars out, but is easily passed under with a bike. I had read the Cyclist’s Rest area in my pre-trip research, but had forgotten about it since. It was built by WWII veteran, Paul Lautard, after cyclists began stopping by to visit his war memorial. Anna and Alice were excited to get out and explore all the railway paraphernalia, and we had a good look around. Like Carmi, it looked a bit like it’s hey-days had passed. The calendar in the caboose was from 2014, and an old swallow’s nest from last year still had its signature pile below it on one of the tables. That said, Paul himself was born in 1922, so if he’s still alive I doubt he’d be up to bringing us any cold water like the guide books say he would. I did find this interesting excerpt about the man in an article of Adventure Cyclist from 2009. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the history and the break, and looking the map again now, I think we actually found the stop we had been looking for in the morning.
Westbridge
After 7 km of lovely paved road, our trail turned off onto gravel grade again. We had made good time and had our eyes on the Kettle River Provincial Park as a possible stop for a more substantial lunch. The trail loosely follows the West Kettle River through the trees before meeting up with with the highway as it crosses the river in Westbridge. The dot on the map was bigger than for Rhone, more similar to that of Beaverdell, and we had hopes we might be able to find some ice cream. The day was starting to get on and it was warm. No such luck – Westbridge appeared to be another bit of a blip on the highway – a few houses and farms, but not much for stores. The trees thinned out – the Rock Creek fire came through this part of the province in 2015 and took out most of them, so most of what was left didn’t offer any shade. And then came the sand. We slowed to a crawl along the trail, eyeballing the cars zipping by on the paved highway a few hundred yards to our right. At this rate it would be dinner before we could cover the last 5 km to the park.After 7 km of lovely paved road, our trail turned off onto gravel grade again. We had made good time and had our eyes on the Kettle River Provincial Park as a possible stop for a more substantial lunch. The trail loosely follows the West Kettle River through the trees before meeting up with with the highway as it crosses the river in Westbridge. The dot on the map was bigger than for Rhone, more similar to that of Beaverdell, and we had hopes we might be able to find some ice cream. The day was starting to get on and it was warm. No such luck – Westbridge appeared to be another bit of a blip on the highway – a few houses and farms, but not much for stores. The trees thinned out – the Rock Creek fire came through this part of the province in 2015 and took out most of them, so most of what was left didn’t offer any shade. And then came the sand. We slowed to a crawl along the trail, eyeballing the cars zipping by on the paved highway a few hundred yards to our right. At this rate it would be dinner before we could cover the last 5 km to the park.
We started looking for a way out on to the highway when I spied a sign on the side of the trail – Ice cream and cold drinks! We peeled off and pulled into a small farm yard with a bike rack and a storefront. It didn’t look like there was anyone around, but I pulled on the door and it opened. It looked like a farm-feed store, but there was ice cream in a cooler – but nobody inside. Leroy and the girls had waited outside, and just as I came out we heard some talking over towards the house. A man came over, walking and talking with some other customer.
“Oh sorry, we’re closed.” He said. I thought he might let us buy something anyways as it was hot and I’m sure we looked more than tired, but it didn’t look all that likely. He was kind enough to give the girls each a big freezie, but we were out of luck. Back to the sandy trail. So much for signs on the trail advertising to cyclists. In the end, we didn’t have too much more sand to go. The trail ended abruptly at a fenced field on a dirt road that led to the highway. There was a hill ahead, but it was paved. We put helmets on us and the kids and braved the highway for the last 4 km to the provincial park.
Rock Creek
t was faster to bike on the pavement, but the highway is not a friendly place for heavily laden bicycles. It seems that almost all the roads in the southeastern Okanagan region are narrow, windy, and hilly, and Highway 33 is far from one of the larger ones. Very few drivers seem to slow down much if at all, and rarely move over. I was glad we didn’t have too far to go before reaching the park.
The old rail grade crosses through the park just above the river, but the entrance off the highway is at the top of a hill. We scuttled across the road between traffic and enjoyed the long coast down into the park, following the signs towards day-use parking. There was a short footpath down which we pushed the bikes to a beautiful picnic spot right on the river with the old rail bridge crossing over the river. There wouldn’t be any issues finding the trail again after lunch. We unpacked the stove, refilled our water supplies from the handy tap, and took a much needed break from pedalling.
As the water heated, Leroy worked on straightening his bent rim while I mopped out the Wike trailer from Alice’s spilled freezie. The girls had a good run around, throwing rocks in the river, and generally amusing themselves. We didn’t have the space to bring them much beyond a stuffy and their favourite blankets for entertainment, and it always surprised me how well they did with the constantly changing locations and long days. They were very happy when I found them the sole package of Mac and Cheese we had on the trip for lunch, Leroy had Chili and I think I had the Chicken Stew. We had our morning coffee in the afternoon and treated the kids to a hot chocolate.
By two o’clock we were finally repacked and ready to get back in the saddle. The trail and bridge were up a steep embankment, with the only other option involving a lot of backtracking through the park to get back on it. We decided to go up the hill. The kids had to walk up, with help, as it was too steep to push them up in the trailer. In fact, it was too steep to push either bike up with a trailer attached. We worked together to lift them up over the last bit of retaining wall, one at a time. Remounting our bikes after getting a few photos, we set off again into a more forested area on a much improved trail.
When Leroy had been driving back from Grand Forks back on Wednesday night he had a chance to look out for our cycling route between Rock Creek and Midway as it appeared to run close to the highway. He had said it looked like it was mostly abandoned and fenced off where it ran through people’s agricultural properties so we had discussed taking the highway for that section. At this point the trail was good, however, and it was on the opposite side of the river again. The weather was warmer at the lower elevation and the shady trail had a lot more going for it than the idea of returning to the busy highway. To make it even better, the trail joined a paved rural road not far down the track.
Again we could take advantage of our road bikes, though a persistent headwind from the east diminished the gains we could have made. Rock Creek is by no means a metropolis, but the kids enjoyed the more civilized landscape by pointing out irrigation sprinklers and campsites. Just as the road appeared to bypass a hayfield by going over a large hill my bike started bucking back and forth, sucking any momentum I might have gained in the last hundred yards.
“Faster Mommy! Go faster!” came the cries of Anna and Alice from behind me. They were rocking themselves back and forth in their seats in the trailer, in an effort to help I suppose. Thankfully there was another turn, and we didn’t have to slog up the hill, but cut across to where the road came back down and joined in for the downhill. A bridge over the river was at the bottom and we had to choose – highway or chance the condition of the trail? Trail it was – after all it was still a paved road. Not for long.
The road ended in what looked like someones farmyard, but there was a Trans-Canada trail signpost and another sign warning of rattlesnakes. Leroy thought he saw a small one as we were on our last downhill, and we had been discussing what to look for in terms of colour and shape. After pointing out the sign I looked down to see a good sized specimen not far from my bike. It stayed put just long enough for everyone to see before slithering into the grass. It certainly made us think about all the tall grass in the field beyond the gate.
The Kettle Valley Rail Trail is on old railway right-of-way through a lot of farmland in this area. After the railway shut down in the 1970’s the government purchased the land for the trail, which makes navigation a little more interesting where it crosses private lands. A lot of fields are gated, so a lot of dismounting is required to open and close the gates, and the condition of the trail within them varies widely – from a narrow track through the grass (as this first one) to a gravely path set up from the lower field. One or two even had tall chain link fences on either side of the track. Traversing the grassy ones was hardest. The trailers were way too wide to fit on the one-wheel-wide dirt track and had to push their own through grass that came halfway up their sides. That first field, while only maybe 600 m long, was a lot of work. I was briefly thought maybe we should have taken the bridge and the highway, but I wasn’t going to go back through that field.
So we puttered along for the next 5 km along beside the river, likely taking as long as it had to cover the previous twelve. There wasn’t really any other option – the road was back on the other side of the river. Eventually we came to and crossed under the road bridge about halfway between Rock Creek and Midway. We were slow and tired. The road looked busy and hilly. We decided if we made it this far on the trail we could manage the rest. We stuck with it – dodging the spray of the really big irrigation sprinklers in some places and following an indistinct dirt path through what looked like farm yards in others. Finally the path worked its way towards a sawmill yard with warning signs to yield to mill yard traffic and the condition of the trail disintegrating dramatically as it wound up towards the highway. We took the opportunity to weigh ourselves on the log truck scales, just to see. Leroy’s rig weighed in at 90 kg, mine at 80 kg. We could see Midway down the hill and the rain clouds coming over the hills to the north. And then there it was – the sign saying “Welcome to Midway”. A photo opportunity to be sure.
We did take the highway down into Midway, but it was just as long and we had worked more than twice as hard since Rock Creek. We managed to dodge the rain while cycling the last few kilometers of our 57 km that day, but the long awaited hotel was full. We found a camping spot at the Frank Carpenter Memorial Waterfront Park along the river which, incidentally, offers significant discounts to unaccompanied cyclists. They even have hot showers at a reasonable price. It did rain before dinner, but the campground attendant suggested we make use of the gazebo on site to get out of the rain to eat. The kids had another round of Stroganoff and Leroy and I had the Chili. Our last night in the tent.
Epilogue
We managed the full 216 km from Penticton to Midway on the trail, or at least as much as was really doable given the condition of it, in four days of cycling. But our truck was still in Grand Forks. The next morning we got up, had our Scrambled eggs, and set out again on the bikes. We took the highway now, and it was a lot of work to climb up out of Midway. We did try a part of the trail again outside of Greenwood, but after working hard to gain elevation, only to come to the place where a trestle was obviously removed to make way for the highway, we gave up on that and stuck to the road.
The highway is a whole other kettle of fish on a laden bicycle. There are sections that look like they should be downhill, and you struggle to keep going on them, only to realize the incline is a sort of optical illusion and is actually an uphill climb. There are a lot more hills, and we pushed the bikes when we got tired, just to keep moving.
Half of the distance was uphill – all the way to Eholt summit – and then the other half was nearly all downhill. A glorious, slightly terrifying, when-did-I-pedal last, 23 km downhill. And we did that too – all 56 km to Grand Forks, for a total of 270 km in 5 days. After that, driving in the truck almost felt like cheating.