Singletrack/MTB
Gravel/All-road
Dirt-road Touring
Fat-bike
Casey Loseth and his mother Melanie signed up for this year’s BC Epic 1000 to commemorate their late friend Iohan Gueorguiev. Find a personal reflection of their bikepacking journey across British Columbia and some photos they snapped along the way here…
Words and photos by Casey Loseth
I set out to ride the BC Epic with no intention of completing it within a competitive time. For me, the ride was a message of hope and inspiration, and completing the route with and for loved ones was the ultimate goal! I rode a bike familiar to my mind but unfamiliar to my legs, Vicuña, a Corvus Fatback owned by the well-known and loved Iohan “The Bike Wanderer” Gueorguiev. I only had about an hour of riding time in its saddle when the race started. I set out on the Grand Depart with my mom, Melanie Loseth, who Iohan spent his last time with. In fact, it was Iohan who took my mom on her first overnight bikepacking trip. Needless to say, this adventure was both personal and significant.
The Epic itself I knew only by reputation; I have friends who have completed it but never really considered it for myself. When I registered, I thought it would just be a really long ride. I couldn’t have been more wrong. My expectation was that the primary challenge of the Epic was its length. It’s mostly rail trail, how hard can it be, right? Not only was there kilometer after kilometer of climbing, but most of those trails were rutted from mixed vehicle use, pebble-strewn, soft, sandy, and narrow, giving little to no opportunity to coast and rest. “One crank at a time,” I told myself.
Approaching Summerland near the end of our second day, I noticed my ankles were beginning to hurt. When we entered Penticton, I couldn’t pedal, and even walking was painful. Achilles Tendonitis, I was told, leaving my ankles with low mobility and terrible pain. I was worried. After a trip to Shoppers Drug Mart for some ankle braces and pain killers, we got a motel for the night so I could ice my legs. The next morning, we attempted to set out for the climb out of the city. We had only made it 100 meters or so down the trail when I had to turn back. The pain was just too great to continue, and I was devastated. I couldn’t scratch only a couple hundred kilometers in, so we messaged Lennard Pretorius to let him know we were taking a recovery break in the hopes of being able to continue.
We set off the next day, but our goal was no longer to finish, it was just to make it as far down the route as possible before injury finally did me in. The first goal was making it through the 40-kilometer climb out of Penticton. By the end of the day, we had more than doubled our goal and ended up camping in a storm shelter between two of the famous trestle bridges. I was feeling physically better, but more importantly, I was feeling hopeful. I had left the Merritt start line thinking my only worry was the climb up Grey Creek Pass. Clearly, I was wrong.
Speaking of Grey Creek Pass, the climb was actually enjoyable. How two kilometers of steep vertical climb can feel good is beyond me. When we reached the top, we lingered a bit; it was a significant moment for us. As fans and followers of Iohan might know, that’s where a portion of his ashes are spread and a permanent memorial for him is placed. We didn’t rush there, but then again, we didn’t rush anywhere. We stopped when people commented on our bikes or asked where we were going and where we were from. It led to incredible conversations every single time, whether they were about about adventure, experiencing life firsthand, mental health, physical strength, or just peoples’ dreams.
We met a mother and daughter who rode a tandem bike from Kelowna to Chute Lake Lodge who called themselves “The Rainbow Riders.” We met a hopeful Mexican immigrant, Juan Pablo, who, after feeling depressed landing and starting his new life in Winnipeg, was now bikepacking his way across B.C. We met a couple of friends and “used to be cyclists” at the Crawford Ferry Terminal who absolutely nerded out over our setups and enthusiastically guessed our gear weights; calling themselves “too old to do this kind of stuff anymore.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that they were both younger than my mom.
I may ride the Epic again, and maybe even competitively, but I would not change a thing about how we rode this edition. It was challenging, and far more challenging than I expected. All I know is that after the singletrack section between Castlegar and Trail, I’ll never complain about any riding again. What was important was that we finished and made meaningful memories and connections along the way. I think Iohan would love what we did. I think Iohan would be especially proud of my mom and how well she did.
Further Reading
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