A Lesson in Lentils

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Words and photos by Pat Valade (@bikestachelessvalade).

This story takes place on the lands of the St’at’imc, Tsilhqot’in Nen, and Lil’wat Nations.

I’ve often used the excuse that the size of my tires has something to do with how slow my heavily laden rig, bags dangling, is on the smooth asphalt of our British Columbia highways. There’s nothing slower than a plus bike with a headwind on the road, right? Once it’s off the dirt, it can feel like I’m propelling a container ship with wheels. Blame it on the bike, not the legs, is my motto. A new excuse for every hindered hundred kilometres.

In this case, I was doubled over with the worst cramps I’ve ever had, on the last 30 kilometers of highway riding, to complete our three-day loop. I knew this time it wasn’t the bike that was slowing me down. Dehydrated? Maybe. Tired? Perhaps. Or, “It must be those f**king lentils!” I yelled ahead to Alycia. Repeating the exact conclusion she’d already come to two days prior at the start of our ride, when she had similar stomach pains. Bibs were a poor decision, I thought to myself as I started to eye up the impenetrable bush on the side of the road, planning my 100-metre dash into the trees much less carefully than we had planned this loop. Sabotaged by snacks, the snacks we trusted, that we carried so gingerly in our frame bags for three days, and countless metres of climbing. It felt personal.

I often joke that we go on bikepacking trips to eat an inexcusable number of snacks, while maintaining a carefully curated illusion of fitness and taking all too carefully planned-to-look-unplanned photos of our bikes. As a friend of mine said, “It takes a lot of effort to look like you’re not putting in any effort.” Throw a birthday into the trip planning, and you’ve expanded your convenience store wishlist to a totally acceptable plethora of unnecessary edible delights. Salt and vinegar chips have become a must-have for me, as well as licorice. Lots of it.

Sure, you’ve got your standard protein bars, in every flavour and combination imaginable: condensed crickets, chocolate, bison, kale, chicken and peanut-almond-vegan-bars. For the gram counting, calorie tracking riders, you’ve got your gels and cubes and powders and magic beans. Don’t forget all the meat-jerky, vegan jerky, chips and crisps, canned chili, tuna, peanut butter and jam, burritos, sweet potatoes, and rice cakes. In reality, I could use my entire allotted word count for this article to just make a packing list of food, snacks, and delicacies that you can jam on the bike and into your bags and pockets. With this entire gastronomical party available, I could never have guessed that just a few tiny pouches of Thai-flavoured dried lentils would sabotage me so aggressively, and with little to no warning or mercy.

However, a few memories of snacks and regrets are quickly pushed aside by memories of the seriously beautiful riding shared with my favourite person. Living in western British Columbia, there are innumerable places to go and ride your bike. Whatever your flavour of riding, I can guarantee there is a lifetime supply here. Be it gravel, road, or non-trodden paths, you can’t be bored with a bike here, and we consider ourselves extremely privileged to be able to explore a long list of places close to our home by bike. Some of these places have been ridden by plenty of people before, some are untouched by steel and rubber, and all of it was travelled long before anyone was ever riding bikes.

We knew the loop we had chosen to ride for this weekend had been ridden before. How many times, we had no idea, but the only trip report I could find was quite old. So, although we didn’t feel like we were pedaling into some sort of poetic unknown, it was all new to us. There are a lot of things I like about riding bikes, but loading up with your sleeping kit, and enough food for a few days, creates an enormous amount of satisfaction.

A short fossil-fueled jaunt from home allowed us to drop a car at a friend’s place to start the loop. Of course, we had to surrender some spare snacks to make sure bears didn’t get into the car while we were gone (I often thought of these abandoned snacks later on in the trip). On a multi-day trip, the first few moments always intrigue me, regardless of the planned length, as a sense of excitement mixed with subtle trepidation seems to creep in. On this day, we didn’t plan on stopping anywhere for re-supply, so we had everything we needed loaded up on our heavy bikes. Of course, we were carrying a little extra to get ourselves out of trouble if need be, without having to bother anyone. First day jitters and heavy loads combined with the knowledge that after 20 kilometres of flat pavement, we’d start the biggest gravel climb of the trip.

A long, consistent climb, with a loaded bike always comes with a sort of moving meditation. In the short term, you feel your muscles contract, the pedal moves down, the chain, well-oiled or not, creaks under the load. The fine dust of passing vehicles slowly penetrates moving parts and accumulates on every inch of sweat-soaked skin. A glance up shows you that the grade continues, the sun continues its slow burn, and with the aid of a few gummy bears and a swig of tepid water, the pedals move up and down.

We slowly climbed out of the heat of the valley and over a high alpine pass. Each climb had its reward, and as the grade plateaued, the steep hillside gave way to long ridges, leading to jagged peaks and large, glaciated terrain, hazy in the distance. The cool breeze coming off the glacial ice sounded refreshing, but it didn’t reach us down by the road. Regardless, as that climb gave way to descent, our smiles grew, the spinning of our legs slowed, and we relished a few easy kilometres. What I imagined would be a road full of potholes and razor-sharp fins turned out to be surprisingly smooth, with just enough potholes to encourage a lazy bike slalom. The squeal of a few PSI out of the tires took care of everything else.

It was as we approached what we guessed would be our first camp spot that the lentils struck their first blow. What had seemed like an innocent enough stop to have a snack and pump some water turned out to be quite insidious. Alycia’s stomach pains were so bad that she had to hop off and walk her bike a few kilometres. These were not your garden-variety stomach pains. This was some next-level, Rocky training for the fight, otherworldly intensity. As we settled into camp, she started to feel better, and we dove into our routine of camp-set up, cooking, and scrounging for deadfall for a fire. We passed off the lentil troubles as a rare occurrence and carried on with our night. This trip coincided with my birthday, and Alycia surprised me with some instant crème-brule at camp, which paired amazingly with the flask of cheap whiskey that we dug out of the bottom of a bag. A perfect end to the day. We turned in as the pale orange of a hot day gave way to that crisp, blue, sub-alpine evening, looking forward to the long, steep descent that Ride with GPS promised us the next day.

We continued on much in the same fashion, forgetting any gastronomical troubles and taking in a landscape that was entirely new to us. To ride from seemingly inhospitable alpine environments, then alongside dry hillsides, to large-scale hydro projects, and back into the alpine was surreal. We were on a schedule, but it was still the type of ride where you stopped when you needed to: for food, for a photo, or just to check on each other. If you’re lucky, you can forget a bit of the day-to-day routine that usually fills your brain and attempt to make things a little simpler. Too hot? Time for a long break in the shade, and a hop in the cool water. Climb too hard? Walk your bike for a bit. Hungry? Have an early dinner. Been pedaling for too long? Coffee break.

In my mind, simplicity equals enjoyment on a bike trip, but with all the trappings of modern-day bike travel (I am definitely not immune!) that can be hard to get to. Our day ended with a viciously steep climb, capped by a tiny hike-a-bike to get that bit of a better view and camp spot. Some instant dark chocolate cheesecake (another birthday win from Alycia) and a little more whiskey put us to bed with dreams of our final climb, and what we imagined would be a casual paved cruise back to the parked car. Had I known the lentil-induced trouble that would plague those last highway miles, I don’t think I would have slept so well.

It does always seem like a strange thing to try to translate this type of trip into a story that resonates with others. A trip of just a few days on paper loses a lot of the nuance of actual experience. Sometimes two nights is all it takes to have a full-fledged, whole experience. It’s easy to lust after a bike trip that lasts for weeks and months, somewhere far away from home. While this idea is amazing, and something I often think of, it’s not a reality for a lot of people. The idea of shirking life’s responsibilities and spinning your pedals into an Instagram sunset for months at a time can make a trip of one, two, or three nights seem unimportant or uneventful.

The reality is, everyone has a different approach, experience, and desire when it comes to travelling by bike. And we are incredibly lucky to be able to do this. It’s as simple as that. It is something to think about when that hill seems to never end, when you’re around the campfire with friends, or even when you eat an innocent bag of dried lentils.

About Pat Valade

Pat Valade is a photographer based on the West Coast of British Columbia. He grew up riding mountain bikes in the dry interior of the province, and now mostly just rides bikes in the rain. You can often find him getting lost on some trail, on skis, on the end of a rope, or consuming an ill-advised amount of coffee and pastries while running around with a camera. Find Pat on Instagram @bikestachelessvalade.