2013: Saskatoon to Yorkton

The Plan

Originally, my plan for the summer of 2013 was to do the longest cycling trip of my life: bus to Saskatoon with my bike, ride to Winnipeg, and fly back to Edmonton.  I had lined up hotels, priced bus and plane tickets, and chosen dates in the middle of August. 

Unfortunately, those plans fell apart when my bike was stolen in early August, less than two weeks before I was planning to leave.  I still had my old bike, a converted mountain bike with 26 inch wheels and city slicker tires, the one I had ridden on numerous trips, including from Montreal to Quebec in 2009.  But I had not ridden it for a significant distance since then, and I knew it would be a much slower ride if I used it.  So I had to decide if I was going to buy a new bike or use the old one. 

Our bike storage situation in the apartment I share with Andrea can barely handle two bikes, let alone three, and I had already had one jacked from the building's yard.  With summer more than half over, I decided purchasing a new bike did not make a whole lot of sense. 

But then I thought about not going to Saskatchewan all.  I started looking at possibly flying out to Halifax and biking from there to Fredericton on a rental.  That option was much more expensive, but I put the research in, checking into hotels, flights, and bike rental shops.  At the end of the day I just could not get past the expense, so I was back to plan A.

I put a lot of thought into how I could make it work .  Saskatoon bike rental situations were not exactly panning out, so using my old bike quickly became the only viable plan.  This option meant I was not the least bit confident that I could make it to Winnipeg in the time I ha allotted, so I had to recalibrate.  I decided to scale down and simply bike from Saskatoon to Yorkton via the Yellowhead highway, returning to Saskatoon by bus before coming home.  This made the trip approximately 330 kilometres, instead of the 800 it would have been. 

My dad had happened to loan me his 2003 Dodge Caravan.  He had bought a new van in July, and had nowhere to store his old one while figuring out what to do with it. 

I realized I may as well drive it to Saskatoon--it would save me some money once the cost of the bus ticket and the bike shipping were factored in, and it would let me make the trip faster and more flexible.  It also meant I would not have to disassemble my bike prior to the ride, which was a nice perk. 

So that was my plan: drive to Saskatoon, spend the night, park the van downtown, bike to Yorkton over three days, two nights, and bus back to Saskatoon.  Then I would spend another night in Saskatoon, and drive home the next day.   In total the trip would take five days, four nights, and by playing around with my hours at work, I could even avoid taking vacation time.

I emailed the Saskatchewan Transportation Company (STC) to confirm that I would be able to take my bike from Yorkton to Saskatoon, and a woman named Carol wrote me back saying I could, only I would need a box.  I asked if they sold the boxes at the Yorkton station, explaining that I would be biking there and unable to bring a box.  She replied:

The Yorkton agency doesn't have any bike boxes for sale there.  People needing them usually go to a place that sells bikes and gets a box from them or to Canadian Tire.  They tell me that these stores usually give them away.  I guess you would have to arrange to have it sent to the depot somehow.

Also, the Saskatoon Depot sells these bike boxes, but at a cost to you of $30.00.  They would ship one to the depot in Yorkton to be held for you, free of charge for shipping, but you would have to pay the $30.00.  Let me know if that is what you want us to do.

Talk about service!  I emailed Carol back, asking her to go ahead and have the box shipped for August 20.

Next I prepared with a trip to Mountain Equipment Co-op.  I returned two inner tubes I had on reserve for my stolen bike.  I purchased bike socks for the first time, as well as stunningly white sun arms and legs to protect against sun burn, since the weather was predicted to be very hot.  I also bought a new pair of shoes that would be comfortable to bike in as well as walk in when I was off my bike.  This way I could avoid carrying a second pair of shoes.  I also bought two new inner tubes and a new tire.  I had already replaced the tire on my back wheel, but I was undecided about whether or not I would change the front. 

Then, the weekend before I was planning to leave, Andrea began talking about wanting to see a CFL football game in Regina.  "Do you think you'd want to go to Regina in November to see the Eskimos?" she asked me. 

"Uh, I'm going to Saskatchewan next weekend, you know?  Are the Roughriders playing?"

Sure enough, the Montreal Alouettes were in Regina on August 17.  Moreover, somewhat to my surprise, tickets were still available.

So my plans changed again, this time including a nice little date at Taylor Field in the first half of the trip.

August 16, 2013

We left Edmonton the afternoon of August 16 and drove to a place called Radisson just outside of Saskatoon.  We camped there for free in what was basically a field, but technically the municipal park.

August 17, 2013

The next morning we drove to Saskatoon, ate breakfast, showered at the YMCA, and left for Regina. 

The drive from Saskatoon to Regina on Highway 11 is supposed to take two and a half hours, but it took much, much longer, because of two traffic bottlenecks due to football traffic.  In fact, there were so many vehicles obviously headed to the game, that I started counting the cars I saw that did not have Rider flags, or licences plates, or stickers, or passengers with jerseys or hats or tee shirts, etc. 

Anyway, there was no real reason for the traffic jams other than that there were simply so many cars trying to get to Regina.  

Despite the delays, we got to Regina before kickoff.  Although I had been to a football game in Regina in 2008, I was still surprised at the size of the crowd and the swag they all sported.

Saskatchewan has added ten thousand seats since I had last been, and two of those added seats included the seats we were sitting in, high in the temporary bleachers in the southeast end zone.  They were lousy seats really, on an uncomfortably hot day, but the view was better than I expected, and we were on the aisle, at least. 

The first half was back and forth and ended 8-7 for Saskatchewan, and the fans were predictably entertaining, so we had fun.  At halftime I went to grab some Pilsners, which seemed an essential part of the full Regina football experience.  For some reason, fans have to purchase beer tokens, which can be exchanged for beer, rather than buying the beers directly.  

After purchasing two beer tokens, I was walking to the beer stand when I noticed a guy had dropped his wallet.  I retrieved it for him and caught up to him to give it back.  It turned out that he had had a few, and was apparently celebrating his bachelor party.  He was also really excited to have me give him his wallet back, so he insisted we get a picture together and then gave me one of his beer tokens to say thank you.  So now I had three beer tokens, which meant we had to have four beers.

Montreal's quarterback Anthony Calvillo had left the game after being hit early in the second quarter (he has yet to play again, and may never), but whoever Montreal played to replace him did okay, and Saskatchewan needed a no-time-left field goal to win the game, 24-21.

We suffered through the post-game Regina traffic, and eventually got to park at the Saskatchewan legislature, where we walked around for a bit, both inside and out, before heading north and buying supper at Safeway.  We ate on our way back to Saskatoon.  Our accommodation plan for the night was sketchy and inadequate, and I was eager to get a good rest since I would be biking the next day.  I was not eager for a repeat of our previous night, which was tolerable but not ideal.

The plan had been to take advantage of another free campground in a place a bit south of Saskatoon, but we had swung by it on our way to Regina, and it looked lousy, plus I wanted to shower after a sweaty day, or at least in the morning, and that was going to be impossible at this campground, and even the YMCA did not open until too late on Sunday morning.

So, we did some smartphone research and ending up booking a hotel just outside of Saskatoon. 

August 18, 2013

The next morning, clean and well rested, I drove Andrea to the bus terminal where she caught the bus back to Edmonton. 

I had not received an email from the STC's Carol about the bike box, so I sent her another email asking her to confirm that she would send it.  Then I drove a few blocks away to a residential neighborhood and parked the van.  I loaded up the bike and hit the road.

It was a sluggish start, despite the light Sunday morning traffic.  My bike felt incredibly heavy, and it was tough to build up momentum between not being entirely sure where I was going and having to go through stop lights and stop signs.  I do not remember how long it took me to get from downtown Saskatoon to the Yellowhead highway, but it was awhile.  I avoided Circle Drive by heading more or less directly east on Taylor Street, and then  cutting south on Boychuk Drive in the suburban outskirts. 

I turned left onto the highway sometime between ten and eleven.  The day was  not exceptionally hot at this point, but it was beginning to warm, and I was certainly already sweating.  I was drinking quite a bit of water already.  I had really had a tough time deciding how much water to carry, wanting to avoid any weight I could, but I opted for 3 litres--a large 1.5 L bottle and three 500 mLs that would fit in my water bottle holder on my cross bar.  I also had some snacks like granola bars and fruit.  

Out on the open highway I at least had the advantage of not having to stop, but now I was really feeling the wind in my face, and I was frustrated  at my pace.  I felt like I was putting a lot of effort in just to reach a speed of twenty kmph.  I pulled out my little MP3 player I had purchased at Walmart for $16 and listening to a few tunes helped a lot, much to my surprise.  I had never really listened to music while cycling before, but it was unexpectedly motivating. 

It was all the more disappointing then when I realized why it had only cost $16.  I think I had listened to four or five songs in total when it ceased playing.  I turned it off, then on, then did the same all over again.  Apparently the battery had died already. 

Since the stretch of Yellowhead between Saskatoon and Yorkton is about as sparsely populated as any, I was anxious about finding places to get food and water.  On day one my plan was to get lunch in a town called Colonsay, but it was taking me a lot longer to get there than I had anticipated.  Still, for now, the countryside was remarkably beautiful, which I was not able to appreciate much later on in the day as it got hotter.  The perfectly blue sky above the fields and farms and occasional cow pond was truly gorgeous.  

I stopped at a rest stop somewhere in between Saskatoon and Colonsay to apply sunscreen, put on my sun arms and legs, dig out a new water bottle, and eat some food.  The shade of the rest stop's trees was already welcome, just after noon.  Sometimes I find I only realize how worn I am after I stop, and that was the case now.  No more than two or three hours in, I already felt wiped.  

I remounted the bike and pushed and coasted down the gravelly dirt road back to the highway.  The elastic fabric of the sun legs provided a close-to-compressing effect, which felt good on my already sore legs.  It also did wonders in protecting me from the sun, which was now as high as it would be all day.

Sometime before 14:00 I reached Colonsay, near the bottom of a what was one of the larger-but-still-quite-small-hills I biked on all day.  I did not necessarily feel especially hungry, but I knew I needed to stop here or else not have a chance to eat until Lanigan, where I was stopping for the night.  The access road was about a kilometre long, past a little lake, and took me directly to Railway Avenue.  I am not certain I saw a sign that said Railway Avenue, but every one of these towns has a Railway Avenue along the railroad, so I assume that's the name of the street I ended up on.  I knew Colonsay had a Co-op, and I had seen a restaurant advertised along the highway, but I was naive to assume they would be open on a Sunday: they weren't.

I was not all that upset, really.  Actually biking was requiring so much energy that I did not have much left over to feel emotion.  Anyway, I continued heading east on Railway Avenue, out of town, and then along a gravel road past a farm back to the highway. 

I ate more of my snacks and drank a bunch of water and continued on, sweaty, sticky, sore, and extremely hot.  The temperature was now into the low 30s, with no clouds in the sky, and I was entirely exposed to the sun on the open, black road.  By now I was nearly out of water, a far more concerning situation than my lack of a meal for lunch. 

The village of Viscount is only 18 kilometres from Colonsay, and I stopped there to see if there was water.  I biked around for a bit, but all that seemed open was the Railway Avenue hotel/bar.  In retrospect I should have just gone there, but instead I looked for a tap outside, trying one at a closed down mechanic shop that turned but let out nothing but air.  I was hoping there would be a tap at the community centre near the highway, but I circled the whole building without any luck.  I tried the door, and it opened, so I walked inside.  I explored the whole place, which was marvellously dark and cool, but lacked any water facilities.  The kitchen and bathrooms were locked, and the water fountain dismantled into several pieces.  Reluctantly I went back outside into the heat.

My head was aching now, the worst symptom of dehydration in my experience.  I knew the headache could become really painful really fast, so I realized I had to try the bar.  I drained the last few drops of water and biked back "downtown."

The lady running the place gestured to a sink when I asked if I could fill my water bottle.  She didn't seem too interested, and neither did the two or three people playing VLTs.  I did not bother asking, but it did not look they had much in the way of food.  So I filled my 1.5 L, thinking it would be enough to get me to Lanigan.  I reapplied sun screen for the third or fourth time, ate some more of my snacks, and headed out.

Within a few kilometres from Viscount my head began really throbbing, and I was forced to pull over.  I found a tiny bush near the railroad tracks that offered enough shade for me to crouch in.  I popped a couple of aspirin, ate more food, focused on breathing deeply, and drank my water: all of it in what seemed like just a few gulps. 

I stopped again in Plunkett, an even smaller place than Viscount, and immediately found the hotel/bar there.  I was not messing around this time.  I walked inside and asked the girl if I could get water.  She took me into a side room that had a tap in the wall above a chair.  It was a very strange set up, but she was nice enough and left me to fill my bottles. 

Once I left Plunkett my headache was subsiding, presumably the aspirin was kicking in, and the day was cooling slightly.  My legs were now hurting the most they had all day, but I ground on.  Thirty kilometres to go became twenty, became ten.  There was a rest stop a few kilometres, maybe seven or eight kilometres, outside of Lanigan, and I stopped there to rest in the shade.  By that point I did not even think of how pathetic it seems to have to stop only a few kilometres from my destination, but it made complete sense at the time, especially given how rare shade was. 

The heat and lack of shade reminded me of the second day biking in southern Alberta in 2006.  It is interesting to realize now how rarely I have noticed lack of shade on the prairie.  This time, at least, I had learned my lesson about sun burn well--the sun arms and legs and copious amounts of sunscreen were making a huge difference.

It was just past 17:00 when I reached Lanigan--"the Land of Potash."  After the villages along my route, the size of Lanigan was a welcome sight.  I biked down Main Street to my hotel, the Lagana, where I had reserved a room.  It was deserted, and the reservation was obviously unnecessary.  I imagined them joking that someone had bothered to reserve, and laughed at myself.  Nobody was at the desk so I dialed a number on a telephone at the counter, reaching two people simultaneously who talked to each other in Vietnamese before a man's voice said "I'll be right there," in English.  The telephone was beside a stack of postcards with a picture of the hotel in the 50's or 60's.  I gather this Vietnamese family had taken it over recently.  Unfortunately, I am not optimistic for their success, although not for lack of trying.

The man was very friendly, and he showed me where his little boy kept his bike and told me I could keep mine there too.  He charged me $60 for the room, gave me my key, and I went to my room.  I turned on the TV to watch the Eskimos game and stripped every bit of clothing off of myself.  I ran a cold bath, and saw my entirely frightening face in the mirror.  It was red, with dirt and white streaks from the sunscreen all over it. 

I looked into the bath and saw that the water was tinged brown.  I sniffed but did not smell anything.  I looked at it coming out of the tap and it seemed fine.  I assume it was rust.  I was in no mood to care too much anyway, so I lowered myself into the water, wincing.  The water was cold, and my slightly raw bottom stung, but it was also tremendously relieving.  I felt as if the cold water was sucking pain from my legs. 

Eventually I pulled the plug, and turned the water back on, this time warm.  I showered for a long time, turning the heat up every so often.  I scrubbed my face and it stung too. 

Once I was done showering, I stuck the plug back in and ran the water again, throwing all of my clothes into the tub to soak.  I dumped my panniers onto the floor and found my lotion.  I rubbed it all over my sore, aching body, but especially my face, which was still singing.  I then put on underwear, my second pair of shorts, and a pair of fresh socks.  

I glanced at the TV to see a close game underway.  The Eskimos were playing Toronto, at Rogers Centre, and Ricky Ray was having another great game, but so was our quarterback Mike Reilly.  I flopped on the bed, allowing myself to relax for a few minutes.  I was now insanely hungry though, so I had to start thinking about food. 

I checked the desk drawer for any food information, and a found a flyer for a pizza place.  I called them to see if they would deliver, but it was a dumb question.  I imagined another Laniganian laughing at me. 

I shut off the water, spun my clothes around, squeezed them out, and hung them around the room to dry.  I turned the air conditioner on full blast and hung the harder to dry items in front of it.  Then I finished getting dressed and biked back to the highway.  It was halftime in the football game, so an ideal time to leave.

I stopped at the pizza place and ordered a Hawaiian pizza and a Caesar salad to go.  The proprietor was Lebanese--Lanigan is quite the ethnically diverse place, apparently.   He told me it would be twenty minutes, and I told him I would be back.  I rode down to Subway and bought a roast beef sub, a bottle of Coke Zero, and cookies.  I am not really sure what I was thinking buying all this food, but I was really hungry.  Also, there was a fridge in my room, so I could always save my leftovers.  Next I went to the Esso and bought another bottle of water.  Obviously I was not going to be drinking the rust-tinted water in my hotel room.

Back at the pizza place, the man was chatty, asking where I was from and such and telling me I was a long way from home--no kidding.  He gave me the salad in a bag and the pizza in a box and told me to avoid carrying it on its side.  So I filled my pannier with the Subway purchases and the salad and biked back with the pizza across my handlebars. 

The second half of the football game was well underway as I ate.  I started with the salad, which was so large that it was nearly a meal in itself.  I guess it was meant to be family size.  Anyway, it was delicious.  So was the first half of the pizza.  The sub was just average, like any Subway sub, but I ate it all.  Meanwhile I drank the Coke, which tasted amazing.  Then I flopped on the bed for awhile, watching the game.  I could not believe how wonderful my body felt sprawled on the bed, but I was still hungry, so I ate the second half of the pizza. 

The game ended, a heartbreaking loss.  Reilly threw for over 500 yards, but it was not enough, Ray had bested him.

I brewed a pot of coffee and drank it while eating the cookies.  I had eaten everything, somewhat to my surprise.  I did not even feel especially full, although I was certainly no longer hungry.  I went to sleep between 21:00 and 22:00, and slept spectacularly.

August 19, 2013

I woke up well before my alarm, feeling remarkably refreshed and almost eager to go.  I was sore, and not looking forward to another hard day, but the distance I had to ride was only about 115 kilometres, instead of the 125 of yesterday, so that helped. 

My hotel did not serve breakfast, so I biked to Subway and spent $12 there on a footlong, fully-loaded breakfast sandwich, apple slices, and coffee.  I ate half the sandwich and the apple slices and drank the coffee and filled my water bottles at the fountain.  As four or five gossipy seniors watched me through the window I loaded everything up, put on my sun arms and legs and pushed out of Lanigan.

I was amazed at how quickly I was moving.  While all day yesterday I had struggled to keep up speeds in the high teens or low twenties, I was almost effortlessly biking in the high twenties, and pushing into the thirties on the slightest decline. 

The earlier start also meant it was a lot cooler, and I had more hours to bike before it got hot.  I had thought the highway had been quiet from Saskatoon to Lanigan, but it was even quieter this morning, and actually quite pleasant.  It was mildly cloudy, but no less beautiful than yesterday, and peaceful in a way.  It was much easier to appreciate the ride while I was able to maintain a decent speed. 

About an hour or so outside of Lanigan I stopped and pulled out the rest of my sandwich which I ate while riding.  A bit cold and soggy, it tasted great nonetheless.

Near the western shores of Quill Lake, Highway 16 joins Highway 6 and heads south for a couple of kilometres, before parting again and resuming eastward along the southern shores of the lake.  It was here I realized the wind was primarily blowing southward, since I tore up these kilometres in barely more than a couple of minutes.

Nestled between the lake and the highway is a tiny village called Kandahar, a place I had heard about before in Maclean's magazine, but was surprised to see nonetheless.  I was making great time and did not feel like stopping, but I figured I would regret not taking a tour, so I pulled off the highway and rode around the town.  It was by far the smallest place I visited in Saskatchewan--actually a hamlet not a village.  There was an abandoned school, which was somewhat sizable, but otherwise just a dozen or so houses, some of which appeared abandoned as well.  The streets, all four or five of them, were gravel and not especially well cared for.  Other than a gorgeous view of the lake, Kandahar was not much of a place.  I found out later that it was named after a British military victory at the real Kandahar over a hundred years ago.

It was a pretty quick ride from Kandahar to Wynard, where I stopped for lunch.  Wynard was even bigger than Lanigan, although, do not get me wrong, still a little town.  It was not even noon, and I was already more than halfway to Foam Lake, my destination for the night.  

I stopped at the A&W for lunch, locking my bike to a picnic table out front.  I was sore and tired, and looked as scary as ever with gobs of sunscreen smeared on my face, but I felt pretty good.  I tried to order a special advertised out front, but ended up paying $4 or $5 more than I should have.  I was not in a talking mood, and the lady behind the counter was probably flustered by my looks.  Anyway it made me mad but did not ruin my meal, which was big and delicious.  The foaming, icy glass mug of root beer tasted better than anything I had ever drank, I was sure, and I drained it and another full of water.

Full and rested, I popped an aspirin for the pain in my legs, smeared another layer of sunscreen on my face, and unlocked my bike.  A Mennonite couple watched me from their truck--or maybe I only imagine the looks I am sure I am getting; who knows.

From Wynard to Foam Lake is 50 kilometres, and it was perhaps the fastest 50 kilometres I have ever cycled.  I did not stop once, and I was at my hotel by 14:00.  I do not think I have ever biked 50 kilometres without stopping before, but I felt that strong and was going that fast.  Best of all, I beat the worst heat of the day.  I was, and am, awfully proud of that ride.

The Foam Lake hotel, La Vista, was laid out flat like a motel, but the rooms opened inwards into the hall.  The parking lot was empty when I rolled in, but a lady was there and checked me in.  I asked if I could take my bike inside, and she said that was fine.  She gave me the room furthest from the desk, but right next to the breakfast room. 

The room was, for lack of a better term, pimped out.  It had two recliners, a great desk chair, a big desk, the TV, and a nice fridge and coffee maker.  It also had a lot of electrical outlets, unlike my room in Lanigan.  Most importantly, the water was clear.

I drank a bunch, then ran a cold bath and repeated my bath, shower, clothes washing routine from the previous day.  Then I brewed a pot of coffee and tip-toed into the breakfast room, where I raided a bowl of individually saran-wrapped muffins. 

I watched TV and putzed around on my tablet for a few hours while the hottest part of the day passed.  At 17:00 I went out to buy some groceries at the Co-op.  I bought a big bag of fresh cut vegetables (I think it was meant to use in a stir fry), a couple frozen burritos, some potato chips, fruit, and Coke Zero.  I returned to the hotel and ate everything there while watching a baseball game on TV.  I could not finish the vegetables, so I dumped out the coffee condiments from a ziploc bag and put the vegetables in there and stuck them in the fridge.  I could snack on them tomorrow.  Then I brewed more coffee and raided the breakfast room for another lemon poppy seed muffin.

Less tired than Sunday night, I stayed up a bit later, but eventually went to bed around 23:00.

August 20, 2013

I felt crappy when I woke up after a fitful sleep.  I dragged myself out of bed, hardly eager to start biking.  For the first time I visited the breakfast room without tiptoeing, and I brought breakfast back to my room--another muffin, a bowl of cereal, coffee, and juice.  I ate, showered, packed, and was rolling my bike down the hallway by 8:30.

The final stretch from Foam Lake to Yorkton was only 90 kilometres, and given how quickly I had biked 115 kilometres on Monday I figured it could be a quick ride.  Luckily I was feeling a bit more awake now, and a bit more up for the ride.

Then I got outside and saw dark, total cloud cover.  Rain was obviously going to fall.  Maybe I can outride it, I hoped.

The impending rain was not encouraging, but it gave me a shot of adrenaline I needed.  I raced out of Foam Lake and was making good time again.  It had rained overnight, so there was a lot of water on the highway, turning me into a wet and muddy mess pretty quickly.  My knees felt especially sore in the cold, so I stopped and took an aspirin.  At least the rain was holding off.

In fact, after two hours of pretty good riding I had only been rained on for a total of five or so minutes, and now I could see blue sky and sun in patches.  The highway was even drying out.  For a while I was convinced the rain clouds were breaking up and I would be dried out by the time I was in Yorkton.

Instead, I rode into a rain storm far worse than I had ever been prepared for.  It was a cold rain, too, and windy, and my body was stiffening and my wheels and chain gathering dirt and water.  I was spitting gravel from my mouth and lips.  The only good thing is, as awful as biking in these conditions are, an even worse prospect is stopping in them.  I did dream of finding a gazebo or something that would allow me to shelter, but in retrospect I have no idea how I thought that was even worth dreaming of.

It was in the midst of this awful rain storm that I passed two absolutely remarkable Ukranian Orthodox churches, one to the left of the highway and one to the right.  Both were suspiciously close together, as if in competition, and they were tiny, and they stood out like sore thumbs on the prairie, albeit very beautiful sore thumbs.  If the weather had been better I would have stopped to take pictures of them. 

The rain had eased somewhat when I reached Springside, about 25 kilometres from Yorkton.  One of my good friends is from Springside, so I was hoping to stop here and at least ride down Main Street, and maybe have lunch.  But I did not feel hungry, and I did not want to waste time meandering through.  So I kept on.

While passing through Springside I began wondering if my back wheel was losing air.  Of course, I wonder these kind of things four or five or six times on a trip like this, and usually I am just worrying for no reason.  Now, rather than stop and check, this only motivated me to go faster.  If I'm losing air, maybe I can get to Yorkton before it's flat entirely, I figured. 

But I was barely out of Springside before I knew for sure my tire was flattening.  I coasted to a stop to take a look.  Nothing was stuck in it, and it wasn't flat yet, and with the rain still falling I did not feel like trying to do anything just yet.  So I loaded my pockets with all the food I was still carrying, dumped most of my water to lighten my load, and started riding again.

I made it another two or three kilometres, each getting harder than the last, before I was totally flat.  It took some mental arguing before I decided to pull over again.  I was really angry about this, because it seemed like a very bad time to have a flat.  I just wanted to get to Yorkton and get out of the rain and the cold, and stopping to change a tire was not an appealing notion. 

I was shivering and sniffling pretty bad, and my fingers were red and swollen, as I dug out my pump from a pannier.  Everything in the pannier was soaked, and pieces of cardboard came with the pump, remnants of one of the inner tube boxes that had disintegrated from the moisture.

I was too stubborn to go ahead and change the damn thing without trying to pump it up first.  So I pumped and pumped and pumped and realized the pump was a piece of shit.  I was too miserable to scream profanities, but remembering the whole thing makes me want to.

I remounted the bike, refusing to believe the tire was still as flat as it had been, but of course it was.  I bumped along for a bit, cursing the rain and the cold and the bike and the air pump and my wet socks and the people driving by, comfortable and dry in their vehicles.  Eventually I got to a stop sign post and leaned my bike against it.  I took off the wheel and pulled out an inner tube and the air pump again. 

Then I realized the unbelievable: the inner tube I was holding had a Presta valve, and I needed a Schrader.  You've got to be f---ing kidding me!  How could this possibly have happened?  I dug for the other tube, but I already knew it would be identical, and it was.  I had now managed to screw this up not once, but twice, in consecutive years.  I flung the utterly useless air pump into the ditch.  It was useless before, and even more useless now.  That is when I noticed a group of cows behind a tree in the corner of their field, quietly watching me, evidently finding the scene quite interesting.  I could not help but momentarily smile.

Later, I realized MEC had changed the packaging of their inner tubes such that there is no longer a colour difference between the two valves, which there had been previously.  At least that explained my confusion.

Anyway, I  rode the next 19 kilometres on a totally flat back wheel, ending my trip in more less exactly the same way  as my previous Saskatchewan bike trip had ended.  I could keep a speed of 12 kmph on the flat, which was not too bad considering, but it was a bone rattling ride.  Thankfully the rain let up eventually, but I was still shivering and sniffling and stiff and sore, unable to get warm.  I began plotting the end of this accursed bike.  Somehow I derived pleasure in picturing what pieces I would take off the bike to save, and how good it would feel to abandon the rest.  I still had not received an email from Carol, so I was hoping she had not sent the box after all. 

I rumbled into Yorkton like this, bitter but glad to have arrived, still with plenty of time to spare before my bus left at 17:00.  I stopped at the first gas station I passed to see if my tire would hold any air, but it came out nearly as fast as I pumped it in, so I gave up.  I had planned to go to Walmart, buy a towel, and then go to the Yorkton rec centre to shower.  But the Walmart was on the opposite side of the city, so I gambled the rec centre would have a shop that sold towels and went straight there. 

The warmth of the building was a huge relief in and of itself, but I felt very out of place, dirty and dripping.  I did not see any towels for sale anywhere, so I went to the front desk.  "I'm hoping to use the facility to shower," I told the lady. "But is there anywhere I can buy a towel?"

"No, I'm afraid there isn't."

"Oh," I said, crestfallen.  "Crestfallen" is a dramatic word, and one I have probably never used before.  But right then I was certainly crestfallen.  "Is there any where around here I could buy one?"

"No, there isn't really," she said.  She must have taken pity on me thought, because then she said,  "Maybe one of the lifeguards has an extra."  She picked up a radio to ask and sure enough, someone popped through a door, towel in hand.  I was incredibly grateful. 

I paid my $7 admission and walked into the change room.  I really was intending just to shower, but I had time, and since I had paid the admission anyway, I decided I may as well take advantage of the entire facility.  So I stripped everything off, throwing the especially wet stuff in one locker and the damp stuff in another.  I put my shorts back on, showered quickly, and went out to the pool.  I started in the hot tub, went to the steam room, then back to the hot tub, then the sauna, then the hot tub.  It all felt amazing.

The hot tub was below the water slide, which seemed more and more appealing the longer I sat in the hot tub and, since there were not a lot of kids there, I hurried up the stairs and went for a ride.  It was so much fun I went two or three more times, then back into the hot tub.

Finally I returned to the change room.  The showers are designed for swimmers, not for cyclists who have ridden in the rain for hours, but I did my best with it.  I got dressed in my non-cycling clothes and, as damp as they were, they felt almost luxuriously comfortable.

Now, more or less dry, and feeling much better, I realized I was starving.  I had decided to throw away my bike helmet because it was getting old and I knew I would not buy a new one unless I got rid of this one, and this seemed as good a time as any.  I chucked it into a garbage bin.  Unintentionally, I also left behind my wet shorts on a hook as I hurried out of the locker room.  I returned the towel and went back outside. 

The sun was out now, and the day had turned lovely.  Figures.  I considered abandoning my bike right there, but decided I would hang on to it a little longer.  Instead I rode it down the street to the Guang Zhou restaurant, where I ordered a celebratory Pilsner and, by number, a combination plate of food.  I pulled out my phone and checked my email while I ate.  My reception had been dreadful my entire trip, and data was especially spotty.  But my email account partially loaded, enough for me to open this email:

I sent the bike box to Yorkton yesterday.  It was sent to the attention of Loretta (Agency Manager) I spoke to her and told her you would be coming there to pick it and come to Saskatoon with your bike.  

So now I had to decide what to do.  I could leave my bike in Yorkton, take the bus and just not mention the box.  I could leave my bike and still pay for the box like an honest person would.  Or I could bring the bike.  I could not really think of a good reason other than revenge on my bike to not bring it along, and the idea of revenge on an inanimate object no longer held satisfaction for me as it had a few hours earlier.

Uncomfortably stuffed, I walked my bike down to the bus station.  I was still an hour early, but I figured it would not be a bad idea to have time to spare.

I bought my ticket from the lady there, and told her I was also expecting a box.  She had me pay for the ticket and was about to charge me for shipping the bike, but I told her I had been told I could take it as my luggage.  She was not pleased.  "I don't have to use it . . ." I offered, still looking for an excuse to abandon the bike.

"No, it's fine," she said, in a tone that suggested it was not.

"Okay. I do have to pay for the box though." 

"Well just pay for the ticket for now, I don't know how you're supposed to pay for the box yet."              

This was Loretta, and clearly she was not happy about the situation, and really I cannot blame her since it was all a nuisance.  She told me to bring my bike around to the side door, so I did that and met her there.  I quickly removed my pedals and wheels while she watched, and she helped me set up the box and tape it, and pack it all up and really she impressed me with how helpful she was considering how annoyed she seemed. 

"Alright," she said, "just leave it there," when it was all packed up and labeled.  "The bus leaves at five."

She was walking away.  "Oh, how do I pay?" 

"Oh, right."  She didn't seem to really care, but I pulled out my wallet.

"Cash okay?"

"Sure."

Maybe she pocketed it, or maybe she paid Saskatoon, who knows.  Anyway she was not so bad in the end.

The bus ride was an experience all on its own, quite different than a typical Greyhound trip.  The bus took Highway 5 instead of 16, and stopped in every single town to drop off packages and occasionally pick up or drop off passengers.  Mostly though the bus was not carrying a lot of people. 

It was kind of fun, and I sat close to the front so I could see as much as possible.  Seeing small town Saskatchewan from a bus and through the eyes of a bus driver was a lot different than by bike.  We even went through Wadena, disgraced senator Pamela Wallin's hometown, where a sign identifying it as such had recently been removed.

In Humboldt we stopped for five minutes, and I hurried across the street to A&W to use the bathroom.  Memories of the Wynard root beer beckoned me to the counter, where I ordered a medium root beer to go.  What could be more simple at A&W?  I don't think anything, and yet the newbie girl took forever to punch it in and pour it.  What do they train their people to do?  Shouldn't she have learned those two things in the first hours?

It was taking so long I considered just bailing, worried I might be missing the bus.  But I stuck it out, then sprinted back to the bus.  "There he is," the driver said as I came around the corner.

"Sorry," I said, sheepish.

"A&W!  A&W!" he exclaimed when he saw what I was holding.  "Do you know what that stands for?  Ask and wait, my friend, ask and wait."

I was glad he had a sense of humor about it.

We ran into another rain and wind storm just outside of Saskatoon, and it was dark once we got to the station.  I waited for my bike, but it was buried way in the back of the bus's bowels, so I decided to go get the van and come back.  I ran the few blocks to where I was parked.  The storm seemed even worse than the one I had been stuck in in the morning, but at least I was no longer on my bike.

I drove back to the station, turned on my hazard lights, and rushed back inside.  It could not have been more than five minutes, I was sure, but everyone was gone, except a security guard, who looked at me as if my presence was surprising.

"Uh, I just got off the bus from Saskatoon," I said in a bit of panic and obviously making little sense.  "I'm trying to find my bike."

Although I must have seemed like I was a brick short of a load, he took me outside, where the bus was pulling away.  He waved it down and the drive opened the door.  "I'm looking for my bike," I told him.  He pointed at a parcel room, and the security guard took me over there. 

"We're closed," a guy said when we went inside.

"Oh, I'm just looking for my bike," I said, and luckily saw it on a luggage cart.  "This is it."  The original guy looked at another guy and they both shrugged.  I had already picked it up and was carrying it to the door.

I thanked the security guard who let me out a gate onto the street where I had parked the van.  As I loaded the bike inside, I heard a honk and turned around to see the bus passing me, the driver waving good night through the window.

Originally I had considered potentially driving to Edmonton that night, or at least somewhere out of Saskatoon, but I was way too tired.  I drove less than five blocks, and even that seemed dangerous given how tired I was and how wicked the weather was.  I got a room at the Northgate Motor Inn, ordered a delivery pizza, showered again, and slept the night and half the morning away.

I drove home the next day.