Jun. 09, 2010 - Issue #764: Hot Summer Guide 2010
Taming Big Red
An old hand gets back on the iron horse
» North Saskatchewan, somewhere between Heinsburg and St Paul / Will Colford
The aptly-named Iron Horse Trail is a sideways "Y" section of the greater Trans Canada Trail, linking 10 municipalities as far east as Cold Lake and as close to Edmonton as Waskatenau. It's comprised of 257 kilometres from the old Bonnyville-Coronado rail line, which makes it a relatively easy, high-quality multipurpose trail, perfect for a quick recreational getaway from the city.
The stewards of the trail, the Riverland Recreational Trail Society, have organized an 87 km run from Heinsburg—the southeastern most point—to St Paul. Along with 18 others, I get to enjoy the open trail, the history and the dust of yet another hidden gem in eastern Alberta.
Leaving the staging area at St Paul, I can't help but feel like a big kid about to spend the day playing with a big-kid toy. Big Red is an automatic—which means the only thing I need to worry about is how far to bury my thumb nail into the accelerator pad.
At Heinsburg, Nathan Taylor, a local journalist from Smoky Lake, offers to show me the ropes and be my personal trail guide. "Let's get going before everyone gets in front of us," he beams.
Excited, I hunker down, turn the key and press go. Nothing happens. Taylor shows me how to put it in gear and then we're off. We begin by taking it slow, and that's fine by me.
The North Saskatchewan meanders through a sea of rolling hills. Late morning light turns the freshly budding landscape into a radiant green; clouds pass through the old blue sky like grazing bison; humming crickets provide melody for the birds' delicate arias. It's the Alberta you always see in brochures, but never seem to find on the QE II or Yellowhead.
A bit further on the pack begins to thin and Taylor and I are given a bit more room to play. We begin to jostle just a tiny bit. Slowly, my odometer begins to creep up, along with my sense of friendly competition.
It quickly becomes apparent where the expression "eat my dust" comes from. A thick film begins to cloud my sunglasses. I wear more trail than I ride. My teeth cake with grit, yet I can't hold back my ever-widening grin.
Being an old section of rail line, there is a converted picnicking and camping spot approximately every 11 km. These little havens used to be water-refilling stations for the steam engines hauling supplies into Edmonton.
I can't imagine having to stop every 11 km, especially while riding something as freeing as Big Red. It makes me truly appreciate the transportation conveniences we have today, yet at the same time it also makes me feel slightly wasteful. Like when I take my car across the High Level to work.
Quadding along the old rail line for recreational purposes, however, instills a sense of thrill, as though I'm lucky to be alive in an age where I can enjoy that life to the fullest. In one sense, it could be viewed as a form of gratitude. I'm thankful I didn't have to pioneer the West, but since I didn't I might as well enjoy the hell out of the work of our forefathers.
With that in mind I decide it's time to see what Big Red is capable of. Purposefully, I begin to slow up and open a wide gap between myself and anyone in front. The section I've picked is straight and flat so nothing should go too wrong.
My thumb jams into the accelerator as my exhaust spits like a machine gun. Rocks spray from my tires and I'm off. Third gear comes quick and the flora lining the trail begins to blur.
As I hit 60 Big Red starts to handle like a stick of butter on the hard gravel surface. Seventy ticks over as I get to fifth gear. An insect that didn't see me coming meets its end as it smacks my face. I reel a little bit at the impact but keep pushing with new determination. Seventy-nine and feeling fine, but I'm running out of trail, just as I've run out of gears.
"I hope this thing has good brakes," I say to the passing wind. Like a dam that finally bursts under the pressure, I hit 80 and scream with mixed delight and terror. I can see Taylor in front of me, so I release the accelerator and begin to slow my pace.
As I get older it gets rarer to discover a new feeling and sensation. But out here on the Iron Horse Trail with a ride like Big Red, it's just like being a kid again. V
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