The Things You Do for a Good Bowl of Borscht:
Borscht….a large steaming bowl of deep red liquid with half submerged chunks of cabbage and a blob of cream floating like an island in this Sargasso Sea of soup. Even the name sounds exotic…conjuring up images of Cossacks on horseback charging across a snowy steppe. This delicacy is found only after venturing deep into the bowels of Boundary territory… a place populated with names like Barisoff, Chernoff, & Rosskov.
You know as well as I do that the borscht is just an excuse to spend 4 days on the road. Why leave a comfortable home and a loving wife? Does the boredom of a long stretch of riding constitute adventure? Is helmet hair glamorous?
Like most things, this all started with an innocuous email from my Kamloops riding buddy, Bob Beck, announcing that May has finally arrived, and time to get out on the road for a couple of days. Think of “Al the Pal” in the movie “Always” and that’s Bob.
This would presumably be a tune up for our annual two week cross country extravaganza ride across the Trans Canada Hwy to Thunder Bay and return through the US. Of course, there’s many smaller rides thrown into the mix before the big July ride – the annual Father’s Day ride to Whistler culminating at the Italian Car show in North Vancouver’s Waterfront Park, the overnighter ride to Gold River for cigars at the Craig-Jones B&B in Campbell River, and the monster, 700+ bike strong, Ride For Dad here in Victoria.
The spark of anticipation has been struck. This is the point where my beautifully understanding wife of 35 years realizes that, for at least part of the summer, she has to share me with my desire for the open road. You see, she doesn’t ride. Its not for lack of trying. She gamely rode through some pretty nasty weather through the Kootenays during the early years here in BC, but decided it wasn’t in her genes.
Same with camping. I think that the pivotal episode was when I fed her a hamburg for breakfast early in the course of events. That always comes up when camping experiences enter a dinner discussion with friends.
Now consider that other huge factor – the weather. It’s bad enough when you’re in a car and the route to borschtland is awash, but on a bike it can be unbearable. I’m in total synch with my wife there, but I’m the owner/operator of the bike and that implies certain rights and responsibilities such as riding in the rain when you want to – or not. Sure, purists can say there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad equipment, but haven’t you encountered your share of windy, wet, cold weather to the point where you could hardly feel your hands? I’ll wager that you prefer warm, dry riding weather. Instead of just enduring the trip, you are actually enjoying it.
Anywhere on the west coast, one has to contend with mountain passes that are measured in the thousands of meters. This can mean that a mild sunny day at the bottom of the pass can easily reduce the unprepared rider to blue lips and chattering teeth at the top of the pass.
With all this in mind, the trip began with a BC Ferry to the mainland. You always meet other riders in the parking lot or on the car deck and their stories can be amazing. Of course, how much actually happened may be in question.
The beautiful part of the route to Grand Forks is the entire length of Hwy 3 east of Hope. You ride through dense west coast forest, twist through tight switchbacks east of Manning Park and cruise along high prairie grasslands – all the time scanning for deer. We saw them even at 11:00 in the morning. Huge brown bloodstains on the road marked where some unfortunate deer had made a Kamikaze dash in front of a vehicle, hopefully not a bike.
One popped his head up from a roadside incline he had just climbed and I thought he was going for it. After grabbing all the brake I could and swerving into the empty oncoming lane (talk about pucker power), you would have needed a spatula to break the suction on that seat.
I’ve done Hwy 3 so often, that there are landmarks that dredge memories up from the soggy mess of my mind:
- Ancient Native pictographs along the old Hedley Road.
- Hedley and the old Mascot Mine hanging off the side of the mountain, remind me of the giant old snooker table that used to take up most of the space inside the former union office now known as the Hitching Post Café. The front windows are so old you can see the streaks like they are melting.
- That long straight stretch of Hwy 3 east of Princeton where I saw tourists play chicken with each other on two lane blacktop.
- The curve in Manning Park where the semi ran straight off and buried itself in the forest. I had to slalom through basketball sized rocks from the spilled load.
- That spot just west of Keremeos where the old minivan rocketed over a 90 foot embankment and landed wheels up in the water.
- The site of the ’05 mudslide by Stemwinder Park which closed the highway, producing saucer sized eyes and waving arms as witnesses told of their escape while we waited out the storm in Keremeos’ Pasta Trading Post Café.
Another remarkable aspect of traveling through the Keremeos agricultural area is the amount of social detritus littering the side of the road – some with the ‘For Sale’ signs as faded as the paint. There is a great representation of not-quite classic old cars piled up in fields or abandoned in front yards. Anyone looking for a ’64 Nash Ambassador or Rambler American? How about a very early Kenworth, tandem axle, stock rig?
As I left sunny Osoyoos heading east, I kept thinking of the lucky sportbike riders shooting those 12 kilometers of 3 lane, hairpin switchbacks all the way up Anarchist Mountain. Anyone who hasn’t discovered this delicious piece of highway engineering needs to check it out.
Farther east, Greenwood, with its abandoned hotels, solitary smokestack and roadside slag piles manages to survive the wake of passing tourists by casting out the lure of the Copper Eagle Café and Bakery. Marked by a bright red ’55 Chevy sedan delivery parked at the curb, it is as effective as a Red Devil lure is to a Northern Pike. Coffee isn’t bad either.
Finally arriving at the Grand Forks Hotel, we tried to park the bikes out of the scalding May sun and wandered into the well used interior. Our anticipation was relieved when the bowls arrived. Wait a minute, this isn’t red!? No red, no island of sour cream floating in the middle, but lots of Sargasso looking veggie bits and very creamy looking.
What happened?
Our waitress explained that there are many kinds of borscht and this is the Doukhobor style; the Doukhobors being Russian speaking religious dissidents who migrated to Canada in 1899 and spread out into the Grand Forks area. The Grand Forks phone book is subsequently loaded with their descendents carrying on the traditions and recipes of their great-grandparents. The red stuff comes from somewhere else in Russia and has a beet based formula.
I don’t care what you call it, this stuff was great and worth every insect that made it over my windscreen to nail me in the small space between my sunglasses and helmet visor.
Al the Pal summed it up:
“You have to learn to take the borscht you are given on the ride to find the Holy Grail of soup. Some day, some ride, you will find perfection.
In the meantime, enjoy the borscht as you would embrace life – with vigour, laughter, and a great dollop of sour cream.”
Bill Gedye
Edgewater Studio
Motorcycleart.ca
Brentwood Bay, B.C.,
June 10, 2009.
Photos: Bob Beck + author.
Further information:
Grand Forks Hotel, Grand Forks, B.C.:
http://canada411.yellowpages.ca/search/si-bn/1/grand+forks+hotel/grand+forks%2C+bc.
Hitching Post Café, Hedley, BC:
http://www.hitchingpostrestaurant.ca/
Pasta Trading Post Restaurant, Keremeos, BC:
629 7th Ave., Keremeos BC, V0X 1N0
Mascot Mine, Hedley, BC:
http://hedleybc.com/mascot/
Copper Eagle Cappuccino & Bakery:
325 S Copper, St., Greenwood, BC., V0H 1J0