Legendary Toad Rock

Below is an article I wrote for Fast Times Magazine not last summer but the one before. My dear friend Wendy Dyk took some really great film photographs of our trip to Toad Rock Campground that won't be featured in my blog aside from one "Mother Mary" as they call her, the owner of Toad Rock Campground, but if you'd like to see the rest of Wendy's photos from the article you can find them in Issue 3.2. Instead I've shared a few of my favourite snaps that I took during our trip. Mary later reported back about the article with, "Those were the truest words ever spoken" about Toad Rock Campground. An experience I will never forget. Hail Mother Mary! Long live Toad Rock!

JJ's Harley parked outside one of the few hippie buses and vans you can rent to camp in. 

  In the small town of Balfour near Nelson, British Columbia is a legendary biker haven called Toad Rock Motorcycle Campground. Have you heard of it? Does its name ring a bell? If you’re in the B.C. or Alberta region chances are you’ve heard the tales of community, celebration and acceptance from motorcyclists you’ve met on the road who’ve had the pleasure of experiencing the sacredness of Toad Rock. If not then you definitely should have.

Happy the resident pig. 

  Once again I set out on my trusty Triumph steed to embark on another journey of the road but this time with my best friend and avid film photographer, Wendy Dyk. Though she’d been riding for years, it was her first time on a long distance motorcycle trip. Now that she had obtained a bike big enough for this weekend’s adventure, a Triumph Scrambler, the rugged cousin of my Bonneville, we were ready to roll. 

 We set off in the early morning to make time for the long 700 km, 8 hour ride from Vancouver to Balfour, all in which we planned to do in a single day. It was late August and B.C. was up in flames. We knew the day’s view  would be obstructed by a thick grey haze, and that it was the whole ride through. Never-the-less we remained in good spirits because we were just excited to be on the road and this time it was more about the destination than the journey. We made it there in record time, or so it felt because a day on a bike that fits just right never feels as long as it might have been.

  In the past I’d heard whisperings of Toad Rock in passing and pieced together an image in my head of what I thought it might be like. I started to worry that maybe I had built my expectations too high for a place that I knew very little about but it easily delivered and exceeded my expectations without effort. 

  

Photo of Mother Mary by Wendy Dyk

  In 1974 “Mother Mary” Laird, the founder of Toad Rock Campground purchased the property and not long after gave birth to her two sons right on the very land that our bikes laid wheels on and it was from there that her and he partner Grant’s love grew into a place where everyone who came through could find that feeling of family. She tired of the negative biker stereotypes that she experienced on the road and wanted to create a place where everyone no matter what social demographic or place in life would feel welcome. Love, respect and inclusiveness are apparent by the honour system in which the camp runs on with its non-gender specific bathrooms, the old “hippie” vans, busses and cute bunker cabins for rent, the diversity of motorcycles, the people spanning all ages from children to the more wiser, the community of long-time Toad Rock veterans that volunteer their help in maintaining the grounds when times get tough or illness befalls the family and finally by the social pavilion built from the trees of the property where within moments of entering you’ve made at least one new friend. Mary claims that Toad Rock is more of a commune than a common campground, stating with what sounded like a near lifetime of contentment in her voice that they are truly blessed for what they have there.

Wendy outside of our little bunker cabin. 

  The first evening at Toad Rock hosted live performances on the out-door stage near the social pavilion. When we first arrived we could hear the 16 year old female vocalist singing “Cherry Bomb” by the Runaways with freakish similarity to the original and was later told of her belting out “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me”, of a Rage Against the Machines song over and over with her parents watching on proudly from the audience. As the evening continued with another cover band and more partying, the question eventually arose of when it would be appropriate to end the live music. A question quickly answered by a lady near the stage yelling, “Mary said to keep going until the cops show up!”

  

Wendy

  The Kootenay region is said to have 3 out of the top 5 best motorcycle roads in British Columbia and so on the second day we enjoyed one of those routes. It began with an eerie 40 minute ferry ride from Balfour across Kootenay Lake to its Eastern Bay terminal, the water still as glass and atmosphere blinded and choked by smoke. Then began the riding. Long, sweeping bends of highway 3A that run along the East side of Kootenay Lake, passing through quiet and cozy small towns echoing the creative, hippie vibe of Nelson. Heading West before Creston along the 3 we hit smoke so intense you could barely see beyond 50 feet in front of you. A couple kilometres of the highway were shut down to a single lane to accommodate the filling of large buckets of water for helicopter pick-up. An unsettling and humbling moment that can only remind one of both the fragility and formidability of our earth; Mother Nature begging us to show her gratitude and consideration but will only warn us for so much longer before it’s quickly too late. 

  The highway continues through Stagleap Provincial Park, it’s way lined with large, muted evergreens and desaturated wild-flowers. I could only imagine the epic beauty of the entire region when not shrouded in smoke but even though we were unfortunate in that way we were lucky to have wide, empty roads clear of vehicle traffic for us to be able to really open up and enjoy the ride. 

  

Smoky view from the ferry on Kootenay Lake

  After a much needed soak at Ainsworth Hot Springs which is located a short 6 kilometres away from Toad Rock, we headed back to camp. The last evening at Toad Rock was more mellow with less campers as the weekend had ended and no live music was scheduled for the night. At the social pavilion were a handful of folks sitting along the bar-style counter and scattered about enjoying beverages and friendly conversation. Wendy and I strolled up, casually placing ourselves amongst them in hopes of being accepted into their communal conversation and they absorbed us naturally. We eventually all adjusted our seating situation to come together around the big, circular table of the pavilion, all of us ranging from ages of younger to older. All walks of life conversing and laughing in story exchange and friendly banter. The happenings of the evening having us all feeling incredibly familiar and in that moment ageless. I remember sitting there in wonder at the profound uniqueness of each character: Some older and wiser, faces textured with the markings of a life well adventured and maintaining uncontrived grace though thoroughly boozed. Others younger but with some obvious life and road experience based on their stories. A middle aged couple so incredibly witty and charming that they deserved a show of their own and even a couple of young gentlemen who had never ridden motorcycles before but were there enjoying the unfettered lifestyle of being on the road. And then there was JJ- or “The Lone Wolf” as Wendy and I called him amongst ourselves before we knew him by name. JJ is a regular guest at Toad Rock, a man likely warranted the title of family. With a moustache and long, salt and pepper hair, slightly past middle age, he reminded us of Wade Garrett from the 80’s movie “Road House” but with a more spritely personality. He was the first person to greet us at Toad Rock and later check-in with our well being during the first night’s party. It was important that we were having a good time. He strutted around the grounds, chatting with many of the guests the first night and on the last shared stories of his own with us. He’s a single parent to a very creative teenage son that he sounded proud of. He was travelling on an old Harley FXR this trip but has ridden motor-cross, built cafe racers and been riding since he was a kid. We discovered that he is not allowed in the states and only at the end did we notice that he is missing his right pinky finger. JJ is the real deal.

  Every person we met that night shone with so much spirit. Each one so natural and uninhibited, flowing with the ease of those who’d been living the life freedom for most of their time.

Go Wendy, go Wendy, go-go-go-go!

  After giving thanks and a quick goodbye to Mary it was sadly our time to head westward home. Before leaving Nelson we stopped in for a visit with our friends Andrew and Stacey, a couple of young motorcycle enthusiasts that made the move out to Nelson from the coast. When gushing to them about our cherished experience at Toad Rock Campground and the unforgettable characters that we met, our friend Andrew asked, 

“Do you think we’ll be like that one day when we’re older? Crusty, old, carefree bikers?”
To which I replied, “I sure fucking hope so!”

Me loving life.