T
he Coalmont Ho-
tel was towering
above my Kawasa-
ki KLR650. Painted
in Canadian Pacific
Railway red, it was
the most prominent building in the
dwindling town I’d ridden to, a place
that had been prepared a century ago
for hundreds of railway passengers
seeking a rest and a bed for the night.
The road into this dusty place
followed the eloquently named Tu-
lameen River, a waterway placer
miners would have combed through
looking for that greatest of motiva-
tors of the past two centuries: gold.
The cracked, sun-drenched asphalt
of Coalmont Road wound its way for
19 kilometres from Princeton, a town
at the confluence of the Tulameen
and Similkameen rivers.
I was swishing along in my riding
gear, trying to get the best angle for
a photo of KLR and historic hotel. I
heard an engine behind me. Looking
down the dirt road, I saw a yellow
quad rumbling its way towards me,
building a cloud of dust behind it.
The rider soon pulled up next to me.
After all, I was seemingly the only fel-
low on the streets of Coalmont, Brit-
ish Columbia.
Ralph was camping with his fami-
TRAVERSE
59
ly up the road at Otter Lake. He told
me he came up from Vancouver every
summer to get away from the hustle
and bustle. He offered to take a pic-
ture of the KLR and I from across the
street, fitting it all in.
Coalmont was little more now than
a bedroom community to nearby
Princeton, grabbing a few tourists in-
terested in hiking the Trans-Canada
Trail that uses the decommissioned
Kettle Valley Railway line or in find-
ing out how to pan for gold along the
banks of the river. Earlier, as I pulled
over into the gravel lay-by to admire
the quirky “Welcome to Coalmont”
sign, still wearing my helmet, I saw
a man wearing sunglasses and sport-
ing shock-white hair emerge from be-
hind an outhouse. In my helmet with
GoPro mounted on the top, sunglass-
es and hi-viz yellow riding jacket, I
must have looked like a Mardi Gras
astronaut.
"Have a nice ride along Coalmont
Road?” he asked.
“I did,” I responded enthusiastical-
ly.
“Nice ride, isn’t it?”
A couple of Chihuahuas emerged
belonging to my new acquaintance. I
held my hand out as a peace offering.
I got an aggressive bark in return.
“He won’t bite you…he’s just nuts,”