Powell River the ferry and Vancouver Island
This page is at a very early stage – the text is literally what I wrote, thrown at the blog wall. Please be patient and I will revise and hone IDC 21.03. 2017
Frithelm and Edeltraut had one of these beauties in an eye-catching purple. Frithelm was a giant of a man. Tall, muscular, a giant. Sadly Frithelm has passed-on. I recall he and Edeltraut visited Cornwall a few years after the MileMaker Tour and I had chance to catch up with them all to briefly at The Eden Project. If there is a heaven, I’d like to think of Frithelm smiling and rounding curves on a motorcycle like this one. (As a skeptic I’m sure that heaven, in the sense that most people think of heaven is a fallacy).
Thursday 25th June 2002 – Odometer start reading 1456 miles
Getting away early we drove smartly to Powell River which brought us to the ferry terminal at 09.30 where we were at the head of an otherwise non-existent queue for an 11.00 sailing. This gave us time to have breakfast at The Dutch Cottage which proved to be a good choice. Omelette, multigrain bread and home-made blackberry jam washed down with coffee available ‘on tap’.
My notes record that I tried phoning Richard about the prawns and that he could not come to the phone. I was left to imagine what he was up to as I consoled myself with the fact that I had made the effort to contact him.
At the ferry terminal, Jez and I walked the marina photographing the various vessels on their moorings. We also noticed star fish and attempted to photograph them. One vessel bore the manufacturers name ‘Fletcher’ we learned had been motoring up the coast from San Diego, California crewed by three guys who were each taking three hour watches at her helm. The variety of vessel here at anchor was mind blowing. We saw live prawns on sale at the Seafood Shack and contemplated how we might transport them on our bikes. Then there was the question of cooking them and so I opted out of making a purchase. Despite my love of prawns. We had a look around the angling store where they had all manner of lures and photos on the walls of the ‘big ones’ before taking our place back in the line for the ferry where we found Hauke chatting with Pat. Pat is a sales rep for a company that sells loan insurance to mortgage brokers and his territory is BC. He said that he was at Powell River to attend a meeting with one dealer which seemed to me like a long journey with an overnight stop for what was an almost pointless meeting. My notes do not show whether I put this to him.
Both on the dock and on the ferry we chatted about various business ideas involving freighting motorcycles, holidaying in Kamloops with an off-roading specialist. Pat himself only rides off-road as his wife is none to keen on him riding a street bike.
On the ferry I met Douglas, the glass pendant guy. I offered to market his pendants in SW UK and the Mediterranean so taken was I with his ideas. He gave me a sample pendant which I kept for a long old time moving it around with me as I moved from place to place. I may still have it. I never heard from Douglas the pendant guy.
Once we docked, we discharged from the ferry and followed Pat to Courtanas Honda on a fruitless search for a Honda GL1500 top box rack. We said good bye to Pat and Hauke led us off towards Nanaimo following the Ocean Drive and the old highway where we stopped at Deep Bay for lunch, haddock and chips. Whilst here we had a chat with Steve the Fire Chief of Hope Bay Volunteer Fire Department. When writing my notes up I had a look for Hope Bay and could only find references to a gold mining project which had closed down as a result of a serious fire! The fire destroyed the fire trucks, ambulance and other equipment. I’m left wondering if Steve’s firefighters were involved in tackling this job?
Our mile making brought us next to Quanticum Bay. Just try saying Quanticum, it trips lightly off of the tongue. I’ll have to look for the origin of the word. Hauke stepped up and secured a great rate for us at the Superb Case Grande Motel. Jez and I ate some sausage that we bought from the nearby supermarket. There is a pub across the road from the Motel which we went too in the early evening. We ordered a round and then were told that Jez, because he was 17 years old was not permitted entry into the pub. In BC the legal minimum age is 19. Over the border in Alberta the minimum age is 18. All of this came across as very odd in comparison to the UK and European laws.
I took some memorable photos of herons in the bay as they watched the fish who in their turn were hoping to catch flies. As the sun went down the scene turned to a beautiful blue colour. Now where are those photos. . .