We had no right to such perfect conditions. We were headed to the rainiest city in Canada. Sandwiched between the mountains and the ocean, Prince Rupert is well situated to be cool and wet. No doubt it has earned its reputation legitimately. But we experienced the opposite.

Loading up our bikes in front of the lodge, the sun’s golden rays were just crawling down the trees as it emerged from the mountaintops. We would soon feel its heat under yet another cloudless blue sky. The short driveway returned us to the Yellowhead Highway where the weekend squelched heavy traffic, replacing it with trucks pulling large fishing boats.

For 31 idyllic miles our bicycle wheels turned effortlessly. Perched on the edge of the Skeena River, the road was as flat as the water’s surface. We rounded every headland and circled each inlet with the river. With a hefty wind at our backs and smooth pavement for our tires we sailed as if riding the river’s current.

The railroad also enjoyed this shoreline bliss. A long line of colorful freight cars passed, reminding us of our own train journey along these tracks just 10 days ago.

Reaching the point in the river where it mixes with the ocean’s salt waters, we could see the impact of low tide. Sandbars emerged and the calm shallow tidepools made reflecting ponds of the river’s surface.

Looking back, the sun turned the receding mountains into shadowy images. We left the sharp peaks behind while the remaining pinnacles smoothed into softer mounds. Their shrinking outlines were reassuring knowing we’d soon cycle over not around them.

It was clear when this nirvana ended. The road turned inland, abandoning both the river and the train tracks to make its final 24 mile approach to Prince Rupert.

Fearing the worst, we discovered the best. A number of pristine mountain lakes graced the forest land. The voices of children playing in the water floated up to our viewpoint. I longed to join them. A campground introduced us to another couple cycle touring. Occasional sea breezes cooled our journey but left the sunshine in tact. And a wilderness viewpoint greeted us as we crossed the waterway to reach Kaien Island, home to Prince Rupert.

We caught the port city of Prince Rupert at its sunniest best. Arriving at the same time as a huge cruise ship, we sought out some ice cream and watched it dock and disgorge its passengers.

Avoiding the trendy tourist-favored restaurants in Cow Bay, we had a delightful dinner outside on the deck of Cargo Kitchen overlooking the harbor and marina. The sun still reigned over the city, but in the distance we could see fog rolling in. By bedtime it enveloped our motel. We completed our final push to the sea just in time.

The sign says it all. Our last 218 miles to the coast are wilderness. Period. I thought our travels were remote for the first portion of our trip. But the last three days have pushed beyond those boundaries.

Besides leaving civilization behind, we have also lost most of the traffic on the highway. The bulk of the vehicles likely turned north to Alaska. Better yet, we have had smooth wide shoulders. Cycling doesn’t get much better than this.

Towns may in short supply, but scenery is not. We spent one whole day chasing the Seven Sisters peaks. When we first saw them from the train they were shrouded in mist, and only a few of the gals were visible. The conductor told us that it was rare to to have a day clear enough to see all seven peaks at once. This time we had one of those days. Anxious to get a good picture, I constantly scanned the horizon seeking a photogenic view. When the peaks loomed high in the distance, ugly power lines always marred the image. As I moved on, the sisters invariably sank behind the trees. The road twisted frequently and the peaks kept reappearing in new directions, only to repeat their disappearing performance. The next day when we entered the Seven Sisters Provincial Park, I finally got my photo.

In New Hazelton we joined up with the Skeena River. This wide, fast flowing river is one of the longest undammed rivers in the world. It has become our constant companion, and our “ticket to the sea” as Rich puts it. If not for the river, we would not be doing this. By virtue of the river cutting a swath through the mountains and the Yellowhead Highway following it’s path, we have been granted a very reasonable route to the sea. I was skeptical before we came. But I can now attest to cycling right through the mountains with minimal climbing.

Numerous side rivers and creeks flow into the Skeena, adding to its volume and providing pretty views.

Our accommodations on this stretch have required imagination. I have Rich to thank for finding some gems. We spent a quiet night in a municipal campground, followed by staying in a treehouse on a farm. Tonight we have a room at Kasik’s Wilderness Lodge. It is the only stopping point in the final 94 miles, which we deemed too far to conquer in a single day. The folks at Kasik’s are have gone out of their way to take care of us. Tonight June prepared a hearty pasta dinner and served up a tasty apple bread pudding a la mode just for us.

The biggest surprise of this whole trip has been the weather. We packed for cold and rain, and instead we landed in the midst of a heatwave. Each morning starts out brisk and clear at 50 degrees. As the sun climbs over the mountains the temperature soars, reaching the high 80s by mid-afternoon. To compensate, we start cycling before 7:00 each morning to finish before the height of the heat. The payoff is having consistently blue skies as the backdrop for the wilderness.

Tomorrow is our final push to the coast. We already know that will bring cooler temperatures and greater chances of rain. But we can hardly complain. We have had wilderness cycling at its best.

Progress to date: 4 days, 204 miles

We step out into a crisp clear morning, with a definite chill in the air and low sunshine casing long shadows. The wind is calm, and the road deserted. The only sound is that of our tires rolling over the pavement. We are cycling down the Yellowhead Highway flanked by wilderness with lake views and mountains looming beyond. Most peaks are forested, but in the distance we see bare rocky pinnacles laced with glaciers.

Although Rich insists that this highway loses elevation overall in its course to the ocean, we find plenty of undulations along the way. Today's summits yield a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains. And we are not even close to the coastal mountain range yet.

If only it could always be this way. Not every day on the Yellowhead Highway has been as serene as this Sunday morning. Clearly we are benefitting from the weekend lull.

Our first couple of days were quite the opposite, and we soon learned that we had totally underestimated the traffic we would encounter. The Yellowhead is a major highway. It's the only road to the coast in this part of British Columbia. In fact, there are few other roads to the coast period. So the heavy population of semis, logging trucks, RVs and car traffic is no real surprise. We just hadn't dwelled on that in our idealistic concept of this tour. The trucks thundering by are distracting and at times highly intimidating. But we have gradually adapted and learned to deal with it.

Despite the traffic, the area is much as we expected – largely unpopulated and abounding in natural beauty. This is wilderness at its best. Towns are few and far between. In fact, our daily distances are entirely dictated by their location, generally 50-60 miles apart. In between, there is very little. We have to plan our food and water needs carefully, as some days there is not even a convenience store en route. My infamous bagels have come in handy now and then. And Rich is proud of his foresight to carry four water bottles this trip.

Surprisingly, we have passed through thriving farmland. The area west of Prince George is known as the high plateau, and it yields rich farm soil, something not found elsewhere in BC.

We haven't seen many other touring cyclists along the way. Perhaps that says something about our choice of route. But each time we cross paths with other cyclists it is cause for an impromptu gathering on the roadside. Meeting a couple from Spain we asked the usual question – how long are you touring? Their response – they've been on the road since 2007!

Sometimes you just have to go out of your way for a good thing. Even if it means extra miles and lots of hills. We could have stayed in a humdrum motel in Lake Fraser, but instead Rich found the Stellako Lodge. The only catch was straying off the highway for an extra 8 mile stretch each way.

Turning down the local road was instant relief from the busy highway. Rolling down the well paved byway we practically owned the road, luxuriating in its quiet width with only the occasional need to give way to a car. Typical of small roads it followed the contours of the land, which in this case meant going up and over a major hill between the highway and the resort. But the sunny afternoon and woodsy surroundings mitigated the pain.

Stellako Lodge proved to be as picturesque as its website photos. A rainbow of bountiful flowers with well kept cabins told us we were in the right place, and soon Trudy was checking us into the cabin “with the best view.” Indeed, we were right on the shore of Francois Lake.

Our early start to the day paid off, giving us several hours to relax by the lake. As the afternoon wore on, the wind dropped leaving the lake still and peaceful. Situated next to the outlet, we could also hear the rush of the water flowing rapidly into the Stellako River. It was lovely white noise. The lack of internet also contributed to the quality of our downtime.

Finding dinner required little effort. A short stroll took us to the lodge dining room overlooking the lake. As in most mom and pop resorts, Trudy and her husband were cook and server, and their Swiss roots were reflected in the menu. Rich immediately went for the schnitzel while I savored the prawns in curry sauce. We strongly suspected that they lavished us with extra side dishes knowing that we had cycled our way there.

The low sunlight was warm and inviting on the bridge over the river after dinner. We lingered and watched the fish that were hanging in the current waiting for dinner to come their way. Our final hours were spent appreciating the view from our cabin.

Morning brought clouds and a short shower soon after we started cycling. We took a different route back to the Yellowhead Highway, but inevitably it too was hilly. And we'd been warned. Almost immediately after leaving the resort we encountered the first hill – a 12% grade. It was followed by a second such climb. I'm proud to say that I conquered them both! The payoff was coasting downhill nearly all the rest of the way back to the highway.

The resort was a lovely oasis away from the busy highway. And far more memorable than a motel. Yes, it was definitely worth the extra effort.

In retrospect, we set ourselves up for disaster. Starting off the Yellowhead Tour after two nights of less than 5 hours sleep, and minimalist meals on board the ferry and train was not wise. Before we were even an hour into the first day's ride, Rich's body began to rebel. He lagged seriously behind, walked hills I knew he could cycle, and stopped frequently to rest. My queries after his well being were curtly rebuffed, but I knew we were in trouble when he stopped and put his head down on his handlebars.

It didn't help that we encountered several challenging climbs early in the ride and that we were cycling into a headwind. Factors that are magnified by Rich's larger frame. This did not look good. I seriously doubted we would complete the day's 56 miles.

I pressed harder and Rich finally admitted to being exhausted, and we put two and two together. Since I normally thrive on far less sleep and require fewer calories for my small stature, I was doing fine. Rich, however, was in a deficit state on both. Somehow having at least identified the malady helped. Rich managed to pull on some extra reserves, and muscled through the next 25 miles. Rich doesn't believe in carrying emergency food, but I do. Stopping to rest, I offered an elegant buffet of my stash – bagels, peanut butter, granola bars and a KitKat – and wouldn't take no for an answer.

The terrain flattened out half way through our ride. We were grateful for the relief, and our cycling cadence approached a near-normal level. Levity helped, and Rich added to his collection of wildlife signs. He's certain that these warnings mean we will see none of the pictured animals. So far, he's been right.

By early afternoon I finally heaved a sigh of relief. We were going to make it. The tour was still on. We were still making slow progress, but it no longer felt desperate.

Our Warm Showers hosts for the evening turned out to be farmers. We arrived at the country location to find a beautiful log farmhouse and an energetic small farm in its first year of operation. Felicity and Gordon immediately put us at ease, and prepared a bountiful dinner of local ham and produce. The feast along with a long night's sleep had remarkable restorative powers. By morning Rich was raring to go. He may have started on empty, but there's still a tiger in that tank.