An Experiment in Prince George

25 June 2025: Wednesday

Prince George, British Columbia

After four hours of sleep, I got up at 6 a.m. to make sure I got myself oriented. I had a big day, and sleep could wait.

One thing about the Super 8 Hotel in PG—they have great coffee. I set up my tablet at a table near the garden, scored some coffee and Raisin Bran, and began capturing my memories from the previous day. The interior garden at the hotel is a human-created wonder of tropical plants, water fountains, walking bridges, and a pool, all scattered with sofas and tables and power plugs. It must be a wonderful refuge in the Canadian winters.

Noah from Cycle Logic had agreed to reassemble Lucy, and we had set a time for 10:30 a.m. Their shop was 1.7 miles away from the hotel. I toyed with the idea of calling a taxi to take me but rejected it.

Instead, I decided to cast an experiment. I would start off carrying Lucy-in-a-Box and see if someone stopped and offered to help me. If it got too tough, I would flag down a taxi. They passed every few minutes.

I remember last summer, after I dropped off my bike in Oslo, Norway, I saw a man trying to unload a number of oversized IKEA boxes from his van. I asked if he needed help, and he said yes. So, for the next 45 minutes or so, Fred and I lugged these awkward 100-pound wardrobes to the elevator and into his new apartment. Fred was an economist and engineer who worked for Equinor, Norway’s energy company.

Today, Lucy was trimmed down to 42 pounds (we had weighed her in Indianapolis yesterday), and my backpack, maybe 15. Many years ago, my Uncle Jim Farris, who was a master carpenter, taught me how to carry sheets of plywood, drywall, doors, and other large, awkward items by myself.

So, I carried Lucy in the crook of my arm like a door and could walk about a block before my arm began to hurt. Sometimes, I could make it two blocks before I had to set her down. I once stopped at a bus stop to rest. I started questioning my decision to conduct the experiment as much as the decision to eat that bag of chocolate last night. Man, I am out of shape.

There was a time back in February and March when I was running 150 flights of stairs twice a week and walking six miles a day four times a week. But since the move from Honduras to the U.S., exercise took a back seat to almost everything. And I was just now beginning to pay the price.

At the bottom of a small hill lies Dutchess Park Playground. As I was catching my breath, I called to an elderly lady walking across the street in the direction of the park, asking her to video me carrying Lucy (poor man’s version of a camera crew).

“You’re not stealing it, are you?” she asked, slightly cautious.

I told her about R4P as she filmed me walking a short distance with Lucy in the crook of my arm. When she was done and handed my phone back to me, I thanked her. I felt she had a lot to say about U.S.-Canadian relations but was too polite to say so.

A short distance further, I greeted a woman walking a dog. And later, a man, maybe in his late 30s or early 40s. After he passed me, he asked if I needed help.

I stopped and turned around and said, “Yes.”

That’s how I met Glenn. I told him where I was going and about R4P.

So he carried the back end a short distance and stopped because he was losing his grip. The cardboard box handhold was ripping away.

He said, “My car is only a couple blocks away. If you wait here, I’ll go get it, and I’ll take you to the shop.”

After I agreed, he said, “Just take a rest, and I’ll be back.”

While he was away, I checked my phone. I had carried Lucy one mile.

Glenn was a power engineer and worked for a Canadian electric company. Imagine the odds!

The Cycle Logic bike store is a large but warm shop with lots of selection. The staff are equally warm. A man in the back said, “Noah is expecting you.”

A tall, fit man in a black biking outfit who looked like he had been cycling his whole life shook my hand when I told him about R4P and said, “This is the first time that I’ve heard reconciliation… peace and reconciliation” outside the context of “Native Americans.”

Noah was in his 20s, intelligent and competent, and had a special interest in peace between our countries: dual Canadian and American citizenship. His mother was from Minnesota and father from Canada. He agreed to sponsor R4P. Beyond reassembly and tune-up, Lucy needed two puncture-resistant tires.

“They have Kevlar inside,” Noah told me. I needed a camelback bladder, master chain link, and an insulated water bottle.

Knowing Lucy wouldn’t be out of the salon for several more hours, I walked around Prince George. For a city of 90,000, it was pleasantly sleepy. I stopped at Zoe’s Java House and ordered vegan chili, a tuna sandwich, and a Diet Pepsi. One item I really liked was the garage door that acted as an exterior wall on the street. In nice weather, you can just raise it for an open-air feel.

I walked about a mile down to Ave Maria’s specialty store, where Stacey of Level Ground Coffee Roasters had arranged for me to pick up a bag of their Colombian dark roast. A young man asked me, “Are you Craig? We already have a package waiting for you.”

A few blocks away, I stopped at London Drugs and bought a mini-USB to charge my front and back bike lights. I had misplaced it in all the moving and packing. Interestingly, my front light was still fully charged after 18 months of storage. The back light was completely dead. A sign at checkout read “Proud to be a Canadian Company.” The local TV had recently broadcast similar nationalistic message. I asked a Canadian if he thought that this was in response to recent friction between the US and Canada, or this if this was a more deeply-seated tradition. He responded that we were seeing “an uptick” in Canadian nationalism in recent months. On the other hand, he commented on an Alberta separatist movement, a segment of Canadians that wouldn’t mind becoming part of the US. I had read a headline about that a day or so earlier.

Then Lucy was gussied up with new tires, adjusted gears and brakes, and a new water bottle. I paid Noah, chatted for a few minutes, and then escorted Lucy to the street. We rode the long way back to the hotel. I rolled her inside and to the room.

Sleep was wearing on me, trying to overpower me, but I needed to sort out several things before I could submit. The most important issue was where I would stay on Friday night.

Saturday night, the Hillview Guest Rooms was hosting me, which is about 55 miles from the westernmost point of PG (where I can find a room) to Hillview, with an incline of 1,900 feet. Last week, I rode 44 miles and climbed 1,100 feet, and that completely exhausted me. So in a perfect world, I would ride about halfway to Bednesti Lake and break the ride into two days. However, there are no rooms, cabins, B&Bs, or other accommodations available. At all. I don’t think I can make it so early in my ride. I am not in any type of cycling shape. I could probably do the 55 miles and climb 1,100 feet, but it would be a struggle. But to add the 11 miles and 900 feet—I really don’t think I can.

After two hours of searching and finding no solution, I decided to go get something to eat and postpone the decision until tomorrow. One challenge I found was that my U.S. number doesn’t work here. And a couple of these places, I need to call. Tomorrow, I will set up access to Canadian cell service.