this was my first solo motorcycle trip. I could tastethe excitement, but it was salted with anxiety.

As the plane touched down, the thrill of adventurewon out. I’d never been to Canada, let alone Alberta,and I was excited to meet its people, see its wilderness,and discover this land they call Wild Rose Country.

Calgarian GoulashI was pleasantly impressed by Calgary. It’s a clean,vibrant city, full of fresh air and smiling faces.Modern high-rises mark the modest but active down-town area, and the C-Train, the nifty light-rail system(which, I learned, is completely green; it’s poweredby wind farms 100km away) keeps the neighbor-hoods and suburbs connected. Colorful rafts filledwith floating summer revelers dotted the crystal blueBow River that bisects the city. Calgary looked andfelt like a typical Midwestern metropolis, which Ideemed strange — but then I remembered that I wasabout three hours north of the US border, and notvery far removed from the Midwest at all.

I checked out downtown Calgary for a while, butcut my sightseeing short at dusk and ended up at adive bar near my hotel, eating Buffalo wings, watch-ing football, and enjoying karaoke night with thelocals. Turns out, the Canadian versions of all threeare remarkably similar to the ones I am used to.

BY JON LANGSTON

As the plane began its final descent, the GreatPlains disappeared into the shimmering hori-zon behind me, while in front, the gleaming

white peaks of the Rocky Mountains soared everhigher. The sky was blue and brilliant on this Junemorning, but, to my right, cauliflower thunderheadsbillowed high into the stratosphere, while the moun-taintops of the snowcapped cordillera were veiled ina leaden blur. I let out a deep breath and turned myattention downward, to the sunny lowlands.

I came to Canada to cover an AMA Superbikerace; what I left with was something spectacular.

The plan was to rent a bike in Calgary and ridestraight up the spine of the Great Divide, past therenowned ski resort of Banff, Alberta, and hook up tothe legendary Icefields Parkway. It’s a winding 142-mile two-lane, surrounded by national parkland andtucked in on either side by majestic waterfalls, pris-tine forest, and looming glaciers. I intended to stayone night in a town called Jasper, then turn aroundand ride back the next morning; like all good motor-cycle runs, in its opposite direction the parkway wassaid to be a completely different experience. Myjourney would begin at an elevation of 3,438'; beforeit was over, it would take me to upward of 7,000 anddown again, twice. The ride promised to be challeng-ing and the scenery magnificent, but here’s the thing:

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Race City, on Calgary’s south side, has been around since the’70s and is one of the few race venues in North America thatexists fully within a city’s limits. Unfortunately, this distinctioncarries a significant amount of bureaucratic baggage; Sunday’sraces were the last scheduled Superbike event for the venerabletrack, as the city of Calgary had decided that the land on whichRace City sits was far too valuable and told the track to vacate thepremises by the end of 2009. (At press time, lawsuits had beenfiled, and the city had diplomatically offered to extend the facil-ity’s lease to 2015, with a yearly rent increase to $1,080,000 —from $37,000.) After a quick tour of the grounds and some sage

Into The WildThe sun was merciless the next morning as I stared at a sign thatread “Banff Trail,” waiting for the commuter rail to take medowntown. I was standing on the platform, wearing jeans andboots and carrying my helmet, my leather jacket slung over onearm and a cup of coffee in my hand, all of which made it diffi-cult to wipe the sweat from my brow, let alone clear out thekaraoke cobwebs. Had I sung the night before? I didn’t think so,but my throat was sore. What was the name of that dude whobought me all those drinks anyway? Couldn’t remember thateither, but I had met two guys named Gordon, something Iknew would never happen stateside. And what was up with thatpetite girl whose version of Let the Bodies Hit the Floor wasscarier than Drowning Pool’s? The one who sang BillieHolliday was far better. My head was far too foggy and numbto feel any real pain, and for that I was supremely grateful.Soon, the train arrived and I was gliding into town.

In a painless process, Vicky and the nice folks at All SeasonRental Adventures hooked me up with a burgundy 2007 V-Star1100 with leather saddlebags and a windshield. I rode aroundtown for a bit, getting used to the, ahem, foreign V-Star; theonly discernable difference was the km/h speedometer. It didn’ttake long until I felt comfortable enough to approach theonramp to the Crowchild Trail (what we Americans call free-ways, Canadians refer to as trails). It was Friday, and theSuperbike finals weren’t until Sunday, but I wanted to stop byRace City and introduce myself to the promoter.

Home to dirt, drag, and road courses for all kinds of vehicles,

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The V-Star 1100 was a capable mercenary.

ger of white jutting out from between two peaks on my left. Iwas rapt by the vista; so engrossed, in fact, that I completelymissed the turnoff to the town of Banff. I pulled to the side ofthe highway and recalibrated. Banff was home to a renownedski resort and mineral hot springs, and supposedly the quaintestof towns, but I figured I could hit it tomorrow on my way back,when I planned to get an earlier start. Lake Louise was onlyabout 20 miles farther, so I shrugged, punched the shifter downto first, and pulled away. There was a moderate amount of traf-fic here, both recreational and commercial, and everyone stayedat or around the national park speed limit of 90 km/h, about 55mph. I kicked back with the flow of traffic, and let the stunningview and aroma of crisp pine take me away.

Just north of Banff is the southern terminus of the bucolicBow Valley Parkway, aka 1A, a 36-mile two-lane bypass that par-allels Highway 1 but hugs the opposite shore of the turquoiseriver, and features campgrounds, picnic areas, and occasionalturnoffs with interpretive displays that highlight the natural won-ders of the area, wildlife, forest, history, etc. Interesting stuff, butnoting the hour (it was now early afternoon), I decided the bestmove would be to keep making time on the main road, ride theBow Valley Parkway tomorrow from the other end, and savetoday’s sightseeing minutes for a quick stop at Lake Louise, whereI’d need to gas up anyway since I’d already burned Banff.

Ten minutes later, I took the exit to Lake Louise. I filled up,bought a Red Bull and a granola bar, and took the five-mile rideup to the lake. The parking lot was nearly full, with touristbusses crammed into each nook and foreign languages waftingfrom every cranny, and as I removed my helmet I wondered ifthis detour would be worth it. I was, to paraphrase John Wayne,burnin’ daylight.

My concern was quickly replaced by awe. Cradled by themountains and backdropped by the immense Victoria Glacier,Lake Louise is one of those iconic places you’ve seen even ifyou think you haven’t. Sometimes called the most-photographed landmark in the Canadian Rockies, at 6,183' theturquoise lake is marvelously placid and reflective, but it wasthe glacier above that held my gaze. On this partly cloudy day,its sheer ice face would glow a vivid blue/green whenever directsun would brightly illuminate its white, snow-capped surface,and then darken to a battleship gray as clouds rolled overhead.I must have stood there for 10 minutes, watching the color of itsface change. Right then and there, I made a deal with myself tostop at every turnout and scenic overlook this ride would haveto offer, daylight be damned. I took a few more snaps of the lake

Icefields Parkway riding advice from Tim Johnson of Fast TrackPromotions (“Do not pass any gas stations without filling up!”),I said bye until Sunday, and rode back to the freeway — um, trail.

I left Calgary via Trans-Canada Highway 1, more than readyfor a long day in the saddle. It was now midmorning, and thecobwebs were being blown away by the wind and the cc. Alone.Solo. No other riders to keep track of, and no passengers to tendto. Heck, in case of trouble, I didn’t even know anyone that Icould call — it was all up to me. Racing west toward theRockies and drunk with pioneer spirit, I peeked over my leftshoulder, twisted the throttle, and passed a semi as the suburbsfaded behind me. Seventy miles to Banff.

Shortly after the Olympic ski jump facility, the four-lanesuper-slab split as the urban freew-… er, trail became a rural,divided highway. The V-Star eagerly scaled the foothills, its sad-dle warming as the road rushed under my wheels, and theTrans-Canada settled into a course parallel with a swift, pellu-cid river, following a path carved by millions of years of runoff.This was the Bow River, the same one that I’d seen flowingthrough the city the day before, now nearly as green as blue.Once fully in the mountains, the temperature dropped notice-ably. The highway curved north, and I blew by Kananaskis,Dead Man’s Flats (not much there), and Canmore. It wasn’tlong before I reached the entrance to Banff National Park.

I was gaining serious altitude now. Forest-covered moun-tains shot up on either side of me, so high their faces turned toslate. No vegetation could grow in that thin, cold air. It wasabout this time that I spotted my first glacier, just a small fin-

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The venerable Race City has been around since the ’70s.

The Trans-Canada Highway is the main east-west corridor in Canada.

M.G

ALLA

GHER

ping peaks with ponderous fingers of ice nestled between. Tomy right, the woods huddled up to the highway, and to the left,a turquoise river fed by meltwaters from the glaciers abovespawned lakes in long, green meadows. Above, green gave wayto slate, the forest thinning as it crept up the mountainsides. Thesky was now gray; the sun had ceased its cameo appearances,and I was thankful for my hoodie. Traffic was far more sparseup here in the forest; gone were the tractor-trailers — commer-cial traffic is illegal on the parkway — as well as most of theminivans. The road ambled upward.

and the glacier and trekked back to the parking area. I zippedon a hoodie underneath my leather and made for the on-ramp tothe Trans-Canada westbound.

In about a minute, I came to a fork in the road. Trans-Canada 1 veered west, toward Vancouver; I stayed to the right,and headed north on Highway 93, aka the Icefields Parkway.

Conquering The IcefieldsAlmost immediately, the Rockies exploded skyward. Upswept,muscular crags capped with snow surrounded me; vast, strap-

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The Icefields Parkway isrenowned among motorcyclists.

Today, The CrossingResort boasts the only gasstation along the parkway,so no matter what yourgauge says — and no mat-ter the cost per liter — it’simperative to stop here andfill up. There’s also a giftshop and a restaurant/bar,so naturally there were adozen or more bikes in theparking lot. I pulled in andtook my place in line forgas. After paying nearly$16 for a little over half atank of fuel, I splurged ona sandwich and a respite. Ipicked up decent cell-phone reception here anddiscovered a couple ofother perks: if you happento be tired or just runningout of daylight, the hotel atThe Crossing has some ofthe most reasonable rateson the parkway; and if youunexpectedly need to bailout of the Icefields, it’seasy to exit the nationalparks here without back-tracking by heading easton Route 11. I was halfwayhome. RB

(Continued next month.)

About the Icefields Parkway: completedin 1940, it skirts the largest ice fields inNorth America (south of Alaska). Mainly atwo-lane road with frequent passing lanes,over the years its hairpins have been tamedand its grades shaved, due to increased RVtraffic. The climate in winter is extreme,and as a result there are no services alongthe route from November to March — nofuel, no food, nothing. The parkway is com-pletely contained within Banff and Jaspernational parks, so strict park rules (includ-ing speed limits) apply. The mountains hereare teeming with wildlife, including moun-tain goats, elk, bighorn sheep, caribou, andan abundance of bears and birds. They arealso laced with hiking trails and dotted withcampgrounds. And judging by the amountof bikes I encountered, it’s obvious I wasn’tthe only rider who’d heard that the IcefieldsParkway is a fine motorcycling road.

After passing Hector and Herbertlakes, I pulled into a turnout at Bow Laketo take in the awesome Crowfoot Glacier,so named because it resembles a bird’sfoot — at least, it used to. The glacier once had three “toes”;unfortunately, the lower one has melted away. The glacier’s“ankle” arches back over Crowfoot Mountain, while the tworemaining toes cling to the scabrous cliffs above the lake. Iremounted and rode to the turnout’s north end, where Iglimpsed the ferocious 400' Bow Glacier Falls before mergingback onto the parkway. Still gaining altitude, before long Ireached Bow Lake. There’s a picnic area at the south end, whilethe north side is home to the Num-Ti-Jah Lodge, a 25-room,log-and-stone hotel built in 1950. Next up was Bow Summit, at6,849' the highest point along the parkway.

Twenty minutes later, after a broad, sweeping right turn I foundmyself on a downhill grade for the first time since I left Calgary.Traversing a long, low bridge over the North Saskatchewan River,I stopped at the viewpoint at stunning Howse Pass. The cloudswere breaking up now, and as the sun peeked through, it castpatchwork shadows on the valley. The wide, shallow streamglowed gemlike against its gravelly bed; legend has it that fordingthe North Saskatchewan was a significant hurdle for early settlers,as horses and gear were often lost during what came to be knownsimply as “The Crossing.”

ICE NINEAll Season Rental Adventures403/204-1771www.AllSeasonMotorsports.ca

Banff National Parkwww.PC.GC.ca/PN-NP/AB/Banff

Fast Track Promotionswww.CalgarySuperbike.com

Icefields Parkwaywww.IcefieldsParkway.ca

Jasper National Parkwww.PC.GC.ca/PN-NP/AB/Jasper

Lake Louise Tourism877/482-6555www.LakeLouise.com

Num-Ti-Jah Lodge403/522-2167www.Num-Ti-Jah.com

Race City403/272-7223www.RaceCity.com

The Crossing Resort/IcefieldsParkway Motel403/761-7000www.TheCrossingResort.com

Alpine horn lessons at Lake Louise.

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Magestic vistas greet you at every turn.