Riding the Road Back to Banff: A Tale of Type Two Fun and One Elk Pasta

We’re riding in the van now—all the way back to Banff—and I’ve got a little time to reflect on the last few days, which have been… a lot. Three full days of biking, and let’s just say Mother Nature showed up and brought her mood swings.

We left Lake Louise under brooding clouds and decided to skip the first leg, shuttling to Bow Lake to start the 60-mile day toward the Columbia Icefields. The wind was already picking up, and I wasn’t totally convinced my kit (that’s cyclist-speak for “outfit”) was going to cut it. As soon as we started pedaling, down came the rain. I pulled over and put on my rain pants, which was both hopeful and maybe pointless, because then we biked about 25 miles in a steady downpour.

But then—cue the Backroads magic—the rain stopped just as we pulled into our lunch stop. This was particularly miraculous given that our “shelter” was a single 10×10 pop-up tent for 24 guests and four guides. We would’ve made it work, but it would’ve had real family-reunion-in-a-hurricane vibes.

After lunch, the next decision was whether to bike the notorious Icefields climb—lovingly nicknamed “The Toilet Bowl”—in the continuing rain. Chad and I were torn. The climb is iconic, and we didn’t want to miss it, but riding in cold rain isn’t exactly anyone’s idea of a good time.

This is where I learned about the concept of Type Two Fun from a fellow rider. Here’s the breakdown:

• Type One Fun: Fun while it’s happening.
• Type Two Fun: Not fun in the moment, but fun to talk about later.
• Type Three Fun: Not fun in the moment, not fun to remember, but fun for other people to hear about (or talk about).

Cam says biking in the rain feels like getting hit with tiny pieces of gravel. This is one of the reasons it’s important for glasses – so much better to be looking out a spotted glass than being pelted in the eye. My kit actually held up surprisingly well, except the rain ran off my rain pants straight into my waterproof shoes—via my socks. (Apparently, my socks are not waterproof. Must revisit that part of the kit.)

So, post-lunch, we “bumped” forward by about 12 miles to the base of the climb. Still raining. Still cold. Still crazy. But how many times do you get the chance to bike up a mountain road nicknamed after plumbing? Chad and I had battery assistance on our e-bikes, which helped… until it didn’t.

About a mile into the climb, Chad’s battery dropped from 65% to 0%—like a phone with commitment issues. Not ideal. But true to form, Chad just dropped into the lowest gear and started grinding up the hill like a man on a mission. Support was behind us, but he wasn’t waiting.

We made it to the top, and just like that, the rain let up. We checked into the Glacier View Lodge with floor-to-ceiling views of the Athabasca Glacier, which is otherworldly. Driving back in the van a few days later on that same road—now under a brilliant blue sky—was like watching someone wash the windshield on your entire vacation.

The descent from the glaciers into Jasper the next morning was stunning. As we dropped in elevation, the skies cleared, and we had one of those “this is why we travel” moments. We were the first group of the day to arrive at the Skywalk Overlook, and it felt like we had the whole place to ourselves. More Backroads magic.

The Skywalk Overlook is a suspended steel and glass horseshoe hung out over a gorge. Glass floor, seemed sturdy enough but still a little unnerving looking through the floor to the ground 200 feet below without being roped in. 

At one stop by a waterfall, Chad and Cam decided they were good. Tapped out. Done. I wasn’t ready to call it just yet—I wanted to bike into Jasper. With fires recently in the area, I figured going slow was the best way to take it all in.

That’s when one of our guides, Tealia, offered to be my riding buddy. She’s on a performance bike (read: no battery), and I’m on an e-bike, so I figured I could keep up. But I’d been on a personal mission to drain my battery, and I warned her I might need her to be my motivational speaker. She casually swapped out my battery for a fresh one. Zero faith in me. Rude but smart.

The ride into Jasper was absolutely lovely. Tealia radiated joy—not just for biking, but for her job, her country (she’s Canadian), and pretty much life in general. As we got closer, the remnants of the fires came into view. So many trees stripped to bare trunks, the bark charred. Some of these trees were known as leopards— the fire got so hot it boiled the sap and exploded the bark in a patchwork. Alternating patches of bleached white and charcoal black. But beneath them was green grass and wildflowers pushing through. It was eerie and hopeful all at once.

We passed temporary housing—rows of industrial trailers for people who lost their homes. About 30% of Jasper burned. It’s staggering.

Our home for the next two nights was the Fairmont Jasper Park Lodge, which felt like something straight out of Dirty Dancing. Think rustic cabins, floral planters everywhere, a communal lodge for drinks and dinner, and a lake where a canoe lazily drifted by like a movie extra. It was charming and retro in the best way.

We had two full nights to relax—ride if you wanted, or just enjoy the resort. Chad, Cam, and I went into town for dinner at The Raven Bistro, and I’m telling you right now: if you go to Jasper and don’t eat the Truffle & Pulled Elk Tagliatelle at The Raven Bistro, you’re doing it wrong. I will be dreaming about that dish for years. Bonus: delightful waitress.

We biked more around the area and, once again, the scenery was epic… until you zoomed in and realized the scale of the destruction. Miles of burnt trees. I can only imagine how apocalyptic it must’ve looked last summer. This summer, nature is showing signs of revival. It’s going to take time.

On our last night, we got a visit from the head electrician at the Fairmont—a former Backroads guide who lived through last year’s fire. He’d lost his home but was called back to help save the property. Thanks to quick thinking and a round-the-clock irrigation system, they didn’t lose any major structures. They literally created a bubble of safety with water.

On our last night with the group, we raised our glasses to an unforgettable trip and the unexpected joy of meeting a bunch of strangers who turned out to be pretty delightful. It really was a great group—good laughs, solid stories, and no one tried to sell me essential oils. For our final dinner, we ate at The Nook, one of the Fairmont’s restaurants, where our Backroads guide Noah somehow got roped into sitting at our table of three. I’m guessing he lost a bet or pulled the short straw. At this point, I’m convinced we’re not yet on the Backroads “problem guests” list, but one long dinner with Chad might tip us over.

Then things took a turn. Turns out Noah is a professional actor who specializes in accents—sorry, dialects. Next thing I know, he’s giving Chad an impromptu voice lesson over dinner. Just another normal evening… with elk meat and a dialect coach.

It’s hard to wrap your head around all of it: fire, ice, storms, pasta, people doing hard things and showing up with joy anyway. But that’s travel, right? A mix of Type One, Two, and sometimes even Three fun. You just hope your socks stay dry.