This First Person column is the experience of Lorianne Coursol, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
I could feel the sweat running down my neck as I crept like a tortoise up the hill from Colorado’s Stagecoach reservoir. I was in a low gear, biking slowly under the burning sun when I was surprised by the sound of crunching gravel behind me.
It was an older man on an e-bike, who gave a cheerful greeting, chatted for a bit with me. As Big Jim raced ahead, he called out, “When you get to the top, I’ll have a surprise for you.”
That led to one of the strangest and most touching moments of my epic solo bike trip. As I got within earshot again, he whipped out his harmonica to serenade me to the top.
I’m an adventure hound with a “let’s see if I can do it” attitude. In my 20s, I dropped out of college to join the Royal Canadian Navy so I could travel. In my 40s, I quit the navy to study ecotourism and outdoor leadership at Calgary’s Mount Royal University.
That’s how I found myself with a whole summer free and a cross-continental dream to bike from Calgary to the Mexican border.
Before I left, I knew vaguely about trail angels — people who stock water and treats especially on famous hiking routes. But I had no idea there were so many of them, and how much they would come to mean to me.
I left Calgary in June 2022, aiming to peddle 50 to 75 kilometres a day. The weather was scorching hot and I hadn’t trained, so my still out-of-shape body begged for respite.
The first trail angels I met were just regular people looking out for each other. On my second night, I hadn’t realized Chain Lakes campground in Alberta no longer has first-come, first-serve sites.
I was frustrated, tired and sore waiting on hold for customer service. Then a couple driving by asked, “What’s up?” and offered space behind their trailer.
Heading out the next day, it was pouring rain. I was pushing my bike up a long hill and, to be honest, really hating my life choices when a couple with a bike rack on their car stopped, hopped out and offered me a ride. They offered three times, but I stuck to my trek heartened.
Then later that day when I was cold, wet, exhausted but finally rolling downhill, I watched a minivan pull to the side of the road ahead of me. A young fellow hopped out, opened the sliding door and proceeded to set up an aide station.
Thinking he was supporting a rider that must be behind me, I was taken aback when he called out to see if I needed anything — a cold drink, a snack, air in my tires?
The efforts of these trail angels appeared when I least expected them. Like when I was changing a flat tire in a stranger’s driveway and he ran to grab a Gatorade for me, or when I reached the Colorado River and a rafter pulling out his boat offered a ride back up to the plateau in his truck on the other side (I accepted that time).
The best was when I cleared the top of a climb in Wyoming and found ice cold water in a cooler with a log book in the bushes along the road.
I have no idea why that particular trail angel makes it their mission to stock a cache for strangers.
But Big Jim told me why he used the harmonica to be my one-man cheering squad. He was 89 and using the e-bike to relive the days when he was a professional mountain biker. He said he loves to encourage people who love the sport as much as he does.
In the end, I didn’t actually make it to the Mexican border. I made it to Breckenridge, Colo., before running out of time and flying home for university. I biked 2,883 kilometres.
The ride made me realize that my body can do a lot more than my mind ever thought was possible. And when I reflect on that, and all the people I met along the way, I am left with this sense of gratitude. I can’t shake it.
I am always looking for ways to pay it forward to other touring cyclists.
These days, I give riders a wide berth on the roads, carry my bike pump, extra water and snacks in my car, just in case I come across a rider who needs a boost. I’ll finish my ride to Mexico some day, and I also want to be a trail angel. I’ll camp somewhere in the middle of nowhere and be that oasis for riders who are dreaming of a cold drink.
Telling Your Story
This First Person piece came from a writing workshop hosted by the Calgary Public Library in Forest Lawn. Read more about CBC Calgary’s workshops at cbc.ca/tellingyourstory.
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