Appearances can be deceiving. From a distance, the dormant, benign giant lies peacefully with no malicious thought or intent, yet I know better. Even its name, “Monashee,” meaning Peaceful Mountain, cannot fool me. It has already been a week into my cross-Canada trip, and despite a crippling pain in my knee and an overly optimistic gearing on my new bicycle, I have managed to battle and conquer its younger cousins along the Fraser and Okanagan region. I know, though, that the real battle is about to begin.

With my knee nearly healed and with a more appropriate weapon - a smaller sized granny gear - I am confident that I will win the day against this great foe. The early morning rays of the sun gently coax me towards the sleeping sentinel of the Rockies. I have yet to be defeated by the likes of this granite guard, and nothing is going to prevent me from passing through.

With steeled resolve, I approach the beast. I soon encounter a series of long climbs. Ha! I laugh to myself; this is what I am worried about? I’m not even close to resorting to my newly acquired granny gear despite the fact that I’m riding atop a hundred pounds of bike and bags. Granted, the pace is slow but it is steady. I am smiling, humming even at the thought of easily reaching the summit. I should have known better!

The sun suddenly turns traitor against me. The warm, caressing rays mutate into white hot blades scratching down my back. I remove my helmet trying to release its suffocating grip. How clever that ball of fury in the sky is, waiting until I hit the final Wall of the ascent before unleashing its wrath. I try not to think about the searing pain in my legs and the burning sun on my back as I inch upwards. Instead, I focus on methodically ticking over the granny gear one pedal stroke at a time. I can hear Monashee laughing now as it plays with my mind. Around every bend, my hopes of seeing the “summit sign” are repeatedly dashed, then, just when I think all hope is lost, something catches my eye.

At first, all I can make out is one of those red, reflective triangles like the ones you see on the backs of slow moving tractors; only this is attached to what appears to be a small box with wheels. I steadily close in on it and see that it indeed is a homemade wooden trailer overflowing with someone’s entire collection of worldly possessions. Who would leave all this on the side of the road? Perhaps the hapless traveller is just another of Monashee’s victims. Perhaps I will be next. But before I can ponder that thought, I see something incredible; the trailer is moving - uphill! This sight only further confuses me as I approach, for I cannot see the source of its locomotion.

I tell myself that someone must be riding one of those low profile recumbent bicycles, since there isn’t a bicycle or rider visible from my downhill vantage point. When I finally reach the trailer, I see that it is attached to a 20-year-old mountain bike by a giant U-bolt around the seat post. That’s when I meet him. A tiny thin man, nearly parallel with the road, pushing his bike with his arms outstretched overhead. He turns to me with a toothless grin. We both decide it’s a good time to take a break.

Without a word, he wheels the bike and trailer off the shoulder of the road, but before I say anything, he quickly clumps away in his untied army boots to grab a large rock to chock under one of the trailer wheels to prevent it from rolling back down the hill. We sit for a moment to catch our breaths. Darren removes his grimy, well-worn baseball cap to wipe the sweat off his balding head. Looking like he is about to drop dead at any moment, he then brandishes the world’s biggest, gummiest smiles on his face as he rolls a cigarette. I smile back out of pity. Obviously he is a simple man, oblivious to the mammoth monster that we are currently trying to slay. I look at him in his denim coveralls and at the wooden albatross clutching onto his archaic bike and see that he is completely ill-equipped to do any battle. Yet here he is - here we are. What makes me better than him? Conceit turns to shame which turns to respect as he casually tells me that this isn’t his first time over the Monashees. In fact, this is an annual trek he makes from Kamloops to Edmonton! I look at Darren, then at myself and finally at the mountain and understand that yes, appearances are very deceiving.

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