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Conversational sanity

June 19th, 2014 | Posted by Dino in Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 3: Carolles to Cancale (86km)

I discovered previously in life (while pottering alone around Siberia) that I require at least one conversation per day to keep sane.

A conversation for this purpose is defined as a verbal dialogue with both parties speaking in turn. It must contain another person (not just the voices in your head) and preferably be in person rather than on the phone. It must contain an exchange of opinions rather than merely an exchange of facts. This is to differentiate it from a formulaic exchange such as “please can I have a fish and a beer” (which one day in deepest Russia is the only thing I said to another living being).

Having only spoken briefly to the man in the tourist information yesterday and uttered “bonjour” to some passing cyclists then by mid morning I was bordering on the edge.

Down the road I spied two touring bicycles neatly packed with Ortliebs and, across the road, a couple of cyclists sipping coffee.

“You’re German aren’t you?” I offered by way of greeting.

They nodded. Yes! I congratulate myself on having been able to identify the cyclists’ nationality simply from the look of their bikes. I grasped, in a combination of bad English and worse French, that the two Germans had spent the last fortnight cycling from Amsterdam and were now headed to Nantes along Veloroute 4. With enough enthusiasm anyone can talk to anyone. I recall a long conversation I had with my cabin-mate on the ferry to Japan. She spoke no English. I spoke very, very limited Japanese and yet we chatted somehow for an hour, learning about each other’s lives. The German tourers were not such conversationalists and, having realised that my school girl French had disintegrated into a stuttering mess, I pedalled off the wrong side of my definition of conversational sanity.

From the edge of the poppy field this morning, Le Mont St Michel was only a grey outline of a jagged triangle. I headed south along the coast of the the Baie de St Michel, before hopping over a bridge to a cross the estuary and continuing west along Veloroute 4.

Though my legs felt strong and were pedalling well it was slow going on account of having to navigate so much. The path cut in and out of crop fields, past verges of thick wild flowers, under skylarks, along a river and over crumbling bridges. The further west I pedalled the clearer the view of Le Mont became: first a shadow, then a line of wall, the details of St Michel were gradually sketched in as I approached.

Morning view of Le Mont

Morning view of Le Mont

Two hours later and Le Mont was only a grey shadow behind me when I pull up on the side of the road to swap my drink bottles around. It is late afternoon and the water in my bottle had warmed under the sun.

On the other side of the road another cycle tourer pulled up. He wore a small beard and John Lennon glasses. Definitely French, I thought, eyeing up his panniers. He waved from across the main road.

“Where ‘ve you cycled…” Zoom. A car whips by.

“I started in…” Zoom. Another car. “Er..” Zoom. A van. “And now…” Zoom.

A tractor rolls by. We stare blankly at each other across the road.

“Eh?”

After five minutes of hearing ever other word he rolls across the road. (Why didn’t I think of that?) The Frenchman’s bike is neatly packed with panniers full to the brim. Stuffed inside his bottle cages are white school-boy sport socks.

“Does that work?” I ask, nodding at the sock covered bottles.

“Yes, it works,” he beamed. “You need metal bottles and you need to put the socks in water. But it works.” I make a mental note to try it out one time. I reckon that it could be handy if/when I cycle across Australia.

We discuss important cycling topics: kit, the respectively weight of our panniers, the kilometres travelled, the weather. Before he turns to go he pauses and adds one more thing:

“Brittany. It is more…” He waves his hand up and down like a diving fish.

“Hilly?”

He laughs.

“Bon voyage!”

My sanity has been restored.

 

Pure Joy

September 2nd, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 72: Sherbrooke to Spry Bay (98 km)

That was nice. I’m glad I had a nice day near the end.

Today was a reminder of how wonderful cycle touring can be (when the weather is good).

As it’s my penultimate day on the road, I followed the coast south west towards Halifax. The coast is beautiful. Not in a big, showy way like the mountains, but in a gentle way that reflects the coast’s glimmering, smooth waters. The road swung to and fro between the hills and the natural harbours of the coast. The land was thick with Christmas trees and ferns. The ocean bays were framed in bronze and rock.

Nova Scotia can be very beautiful when it's not raining

Nova Scotia can be very beautiful when it’s not raining

I was treated to the sound of loon, their mournful call evoking memories of the Ontario wilderness. I crossed rivers rushing down to meet the sea, and glassy bays where a cormorant perched on a rock drying its wings. (Which, oddly enough, reminded me that my tent fly was wet and needed drying.)

By mid-morning the clouds had lifted, revealing a ceiling of perfectly blue sky. It was now hot enough for me to peel off my layers and hunt for the sun cream.

Cycling on days like today is refreshing and invigorating. Over breakfast I was getting annoyed by the man from the camper next door who talked at me for an hour, asking me endless questions. He did not get the hint from my monosyllabic answers that I didn’t want to chat. But soon enough my stuff was packed and Monty and I were on our way.

However annoying a person is (and, trust me, I’ve met some annoying people en route!) you know you can always pedal off. The difficulties of bike touring arise when you can’t pedal off (injury, broken spokes, awful weather, flat tyres etc). Problems that arise get fixed and the pedalling continues. I’m sure there’s a life lesson in there.

Certain moments today – the loon calling, an attack of bugs while I ate Second Breakfast – reminded me of other parts of Canada. It’s been a long journey and it’s hard to believe it will soon be over.

There are some things that I am, quite frankly, a bit bored of. Crackers and Kraft dinner, for example. Packing up wet tents. And answering the repetitive questions about my trip.

But there are things I love and appreciate even more deeply than before: sunshine, tailwinds, wildlife spotting, M&Ms, the crackle of a campfire, the silky darkness of the night sky.

But the best is this: that feeling I get when cycling along with the summer sun warming the skin on my back and the wind pushing me gently along. I’ve experienced that moment countless times on this trip. I believe I will never get tired of it for that feeling is called Pure Joy.

To PEI (with lots of food)

August 23rd, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 62: Sainte Marie de Kent to Cumberland Cove (137.5km)

I was packed off in the morning from Aaron and Shelley’s with a full belly, a lunchbox full of the blueberries that I picked yesterday, and other provisions for the journey – including a small bagful of homegrown beans! I added significantly to the beans’ food mile by carrying them with me for 137.5km before they pimped up my noodle dinner. The noodles, ridiculously, I’ve been carrying for 4,000km.

I had an easy and enjoyable start to the day cycling along the river. I pedalled past sloping farmland, wooden houses decorated with Acadian flags, old worn looking pick up in the driveway and the occasional bored teenager on a bike.

After less than an hour on the road I couldn’t resists nipping into Tim Hortons. On the one hand, for the entire trip I have been promising myself that one day I would buy a whole box of donuts. On the other hand, staying with Aaron and Shelley reminded me how homegrown vegetables are unparalleled in their tastiness. Oh dear. I ended up buying a whole box of Timbits (translation: donut holes). The box of 20 Timbits did not, I’m afraid to say, last til lunch.

Timbits

Timbits

After 50km I stopped in Shediac where the remaining Timbits were devoured along with juicy, handfuls of blueberries bleeding purple juice over my fingers. I am glad the washroom has a mirror as I had blueberry juice all round my face.

After lunch I pedalled again, and continued to pedal, and kept on pedalling. I did that thing that if someone else does is really annoying: “Oh, just a few more km.” Then, “oh just a few more” and “let’s just reach the top of this hill” etc. I managed to churn out 108k, before I stopped for lunch at a pretty spot overlooking the Northumberland Strait, the stretch of land that separated Prince Edwards Island (known to all as PEI) and mainland Canada.

When the smudge of indigo on the horizon sharpened into view my legs found the energy to push faster. It’s confederation bridge! The road to a new land! The crossing to my penultimate province!

Monty and I had to catch a shuttle bus as it is illegal to walk or cycle across the 13km bridge. Blimey, I was glad for there was only a small barrier protecting the two lanes of traffic from the fall into the drink. The snaking bridge curved over the blue waters.

The first thing you notice about PEI is the rusty red rock that borders the island. “It goes right the way round,” the driver said. “Some sort of sandstone I think.”

Shelley had tipped me off that PEI is famous for its icecream. “It’s tourist prices,” the driver had huffed when I asked for directions. But thankfully the BIDIB (beer, icecream, delicious item budget – $400 that I saved by not going to Newfoundland) afforded me a double scoop of cowberry and salted caramel in a sprinkle coated waffle come. Nom nom nom.

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The last icecream-fuelled kilometres to the campground were the best of the day. The cornfields shimmered in the lowering late summer sun. I turned my head to catch vanishing views of the bridge standing like a blue snake on stilts over the water. The cornfields were bending over in the wind. The windy sky was a spotless blue save for a few contrails. A flock of starlings swirled over the fields.

My campground overlooks Northumberland strait. The sun has set behind the line of spruce trees. The surf nibbles at the shore. The strong wind buffets my tent. I am sitting under the flap of my tent when I notice the moon rising. It is pink. The large disc appears on the eastern horizon like a second sun that has been wrapped in a rich salmon coloured silk. It is moments like this, in awe of the quiet majesty of nature, that make all the cycling – and all of life – worthwhile.

Leaving the St Lawrence

August 17th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 57: Rimouski to Causapscal (123km)

I am glad that I had a rest day yesterday even though I spent most of the day wallowing in self pity. I looked out the window yesterday morning to see a monochrome world of hammering rain and battering (easterly) wind.

I only have 3 rest days between Montreal and Halifax on account of having booked my flight for the wrong day (oops). It seemed too early to take a day off. My legs felt fine. Outside: grey, cold rain and a gusting headwind. Inside: a Bed. White, fresh linen in a room all to myself. Grey rain versus bed. Bed won.

My rest days are usually awful. I am far happier on a bike. The day in Rimouski was a classic “rest day” filled with anxiety, fretting and homesickness. Why am I here? Why can’t I go home already?

On the advice of my mother I went out for dinner. The pizza, beer and chocolate cake cheered me up no end. Dining by oneself in a nice restaurant can sometimes feel odd. I am past caring. They had wifi at the restaurant so I entertained myself by googling extreme sports you’ve never heard of, and looking up info on how to train for an ironman distance triathlon. I ordered the pizza size the waitress told me was for “deux personnes” but I insisted and even managed to fit some chocolate cake in afterwards. A suitable diet for someone Googling triathlons, I’m sure.

Pizza and beer antidote to pathetic moping

Pizza and beer antidote to pathetic moping

This morning I was glad to leave Rimouski. The bike path along the river was beautiful as it hugged the side of the St Lawrence. I passed a number of poissonneries and the smell of the sea drifted off the waves. A huddle of gulls lay on the rusty rock their beaks nestled away from the wind, hiding under their own features. A line of coloured lounge chairs lined the bank, overlooking the grey sand. I saw an interpretation board which suggested curlew inhabit these shores but alas I did not see one. Shortly after cycling past a beautiful lighthouse I was met by a friendly cyclist, Andre. He provided good company and a running commentary for 10km.

Pointe-au-pere lighthouse

Pointe-au-pere lighthouse

A lemon-painted wooden house stood looking over the flueve. Is that land on the other side of the river or just an indigo smudge of cloud? Following the St Lawrence has provided some of the most beautiful cycling in Canada. I hope to return here again soon.

After 30km I said goodbye to the St Lawrence as I turned a sharp right inland towards Nouveau Brunswick. Straight away the road began to climb up, up and up. The landscape changed colour as I climbed into the forested interior. The wind pushed from behind me so I was spinning along fast. By lunch I had done nearly 80km. I was so sunny, the wind was behind me so I kept going past my intended campground.

I polished off the day with a beer and devoured a pack of crisps while watching a movie (a movie!!) inside my tent. Sunset came early so I was asleep by 9pm. So rock n roll.

Goodbye Montreal

August 9th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 51: Montreal to Louiseville (109km)

The tailwind is gently pushing me along. The sun warms the skin of my back. A few whispy feathers of cloud float in the sky. Cornfields grow tall in the not-to-hot sunshine. The bike path along the river is flat. The road is quiet, the traffic considerate. This would be the most beautiful day’s cycling, but I can barely see the road through the tears in my eyes.

Why am I here? Why do I have to cycle today? The toned, muscularity of my shoulders and legs belies the weakness underneath. I feel like I am wearing a heavy cloak. Tears fall down my face as Monty pedals on. It feels like I am leaving home.

Montreal has been the highlight of my trip. In the last 3 days I have discovered a local fungi market stall, cooked spaghetti carbonara with 3 different species of fungi, chatted about bike fitting, touring and frame welding in the friendliness bike shop downtown. I’ve slept in a warm bed, eaten smoked salmon for brunch, sampled crime brûlée ice cream and clocked up 60km of pedalling around the city’s bike paths. But Montreal has felt more like home because the Millers (all of them) have made me feel so welcome.

Fungi stall at Jean Talon market

Fungi stall at Jean Talon market

I didn’t leave Montreal until 12noon. I packed so slowly, delayed for a bit and let the time pass. But isn’t it so late now that I should just stay here and leave tomorrow? In the haven of the Millers’ apartment, my body has relaxed these last few days and the peaceful, comfortable rest has unveiled the exhaustion that lies underneath. My body craves sleep.

But I had to leave Montreal today because I now have a flight to catch. My plans have changed because the ferry that I was intending to take to Argentia, Newfoundland, (but thankfully hadn’t booked) had been cancelled for the “next few weeks”. This is because one of the other Marine Atlantic ferries, on the more popular route to Port-aux-basques, crashed and so the Argentia ferry was moved over to the shorter crossing while the damage boat is repaired. Marine Atlantic seem to have made a complete muck up of handling the situation and information on the revised ferry schedule has been thin on the ground. In fact, if it wasn’t for Katie Wanderer I won’t even have known! Anyway, cycling from Port-aux-Basques to St John’s would take at least an extra week – a week I don’t have. So I have decided that I will meet the coast and finish my trip in Halifax. I will still have time for a final flourish around the Cabot Trail but finishing in Halifax will also allow me to nip to Toronto for a couple of days before I fly back to England. All I need to do now is cycle to the Atlantic coast. To be honest, that’s all I’ve been doing for the last 2 months.

John guided me along the bike path for the first part of my journey out of Montreal. I would have loved him to carry on pedalling for the next 2,000km but he just laughed and hugged me goodbye. My mini tours around the islands of Montreal with John have been some of the most relaxed, enjoyable rides of the whole trip.

I can’t really remember most of the ride. I was crying too much that my tears blurred my vision and didn’t see what was around me. Monty carried me out the city, along the bike path, over a bridge, through some construction and out into the country. I only came-to after about 40km when my stomach started rumbling. I stopped for a muffin (homemade with love, which nearly set me off again) and nibbled some grapes.

Miller muffins: the best in the world

Miller muffins: the best in the world

I was loosely aware that it was a perfect day for cycling (sunshine, not too hot, tailwind etc). Monty kept on going. Then I saw blueberries by the side of the road. I love blueberries. I even managed to understand what the Blueberry Man was saying to me in French. Just as I was getting peckish again we found a picnic spot with a shaded bench and a refreshingly cold water tap overlooking the river. Another muffin entered my mouth, followed by a large handful of blueberries. A friendly couple wandered over to say hello and ask about my trip.

Yes I ate all of them.

Yes I ate all of them.

Each warm smile from a passing cyclist, each bite of muffin and each gusting tailwind unpeeled another thin layer off my miserable coating. Slowly I was beginning to remember that this was fun. Passing over the main highway, I didn’t turn back west to Montreal.

I arrived at the campground. I was greeted first by a sign on the door declaring “bienvenue cyclistes”, followed by a cheery “Bonsoir!” as the proprietor came out the office.

“Let me show you where to camp,” she said in English. She led me round to the river. And pointed at a perfectly cut grassy site bordering the river, complete with picnic bench and gazebo. I looked around the rest of the campground. This was definitely the best spot. My jaw fell.

“Install yourself here.”

“It’s beautiful.” I muttered.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “this is the best site. I save it for women and cyclists.”

At this point a smile spread across my face and with it the final layer of misery peeled off. Bar for the emotion trauma of leaving the friendliest household in Canada, today has been a perfect day of cycle touring.

Monty gets his own gazebo to sleep under

Monty gets his own gazebo to sleep under

Highway of Hell

July 24th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

Day 43: Wasaga to Bracebridge (ish) (112.5km)

You know you’re having a tough day when the generosity of someone giving you a square of tin foil nearly brings you to tears.

The tin foil, I later discovered, wasn’t actually necessary anyway as the corn on the cob was still wrapped in its husk. (The husk, Google tells me, is sufficient protection when tossing a corn on the cob on a campfire.)

At this point it was about 3pm and I was in a grocery store stocking up on the necessary ingredients for a delicious and cheering campfire meal. I needed a cheering campfire after today’s awful, awful, AWFUL ride along Highway 11.

This wasn’t the Road to Hell so much as Hell Itself in highway form. The four-lane highway was very, very busy with cars and RVs headed north from Toronto. The cars zoomed past at terrifying speed. In fact, forget my description – just imagine the M1 on the Friday afternoon before a bank holiday. To make matters worse, the paved shoulder I had to ride on was about 6 inches wide. 6 inches.

I was cycling along at some ridiculously fast pace – fear clearly strengthens one’s leg muscles. I pedalled in a state somewhere between abject fear and gritty, determined focus. I was hungry. I had already done 60km and eaten little more than a protein bar all morning. I had been on the Highway of Hell for over 10km. Every second was terrifying.

Cars honked at me. (Yes, because adding to my state of witless terror by startling me with a blasting horn is going to help!) Trucks screamed past.

I scanned the roadside looking for somewhere to eat lunch. I spotted a gas station ahead. there was a patch of grass and a tree under which I could shelter. I peeled off the highway, hungry and shaken. I sat curled in a ball, eating my avocado and crackers off my knees, and worried about what to do next. The clouds threatened rain.

Google maps showed a possible detour which took an extra 20km. But were those side roads really roads or just bumps of exhausting gravel? I was scared of the solitude of empty, forest roads. But even more daunting was the prospect of cycling alone along the M1. Either way, I needed to push on up the highway for another 6km before I could pull off.

At the turn off I pulled up at a small grocery store. Inside the store I collected food for my campfire. “Excuse me, do you have a piece of tin foil i could have for cooking this in a campfire?” i asked the woman at the store, pointing at my corn. When the woman returned with a square of foil I nearly cried in gratitude. The kindness felt like a cloth had been lifted from my body, unveiling my vulnerability.

With 40km to go I entered the back roads of the forest. The scenery had changed again. The thickening forest, wet grasses, rocks and sudden, sharp inclines told me I was back into northern Ontario. The dense forest was pierced by the grey road as it twisted and turned through the wilderness. Although relieved to be away from the highway, the solitude of the wilderness and the looming grey clouds cast a darkness over my mood. Was that the sound of an aeroplane? Or the long, distance rumble of thunder?

Here the wild things live. This is sort of place where the only soul you are likely to meet is a lone man with a gun. Or a bear (if bears have souls. A topic for another discussion perhaps). I sang to myself for comfort and cheer. And dipped into my pannier for a handful of my emergency Jelly Belly beans. For 40km I pondered the wild idiocy of my decision to cycle across Canada. I still have to get to Kearney by Friday morning and that means either going back on highway 11 or another lengthy detour.

Finally I arrived at the campground. It is expensive. I even upgraded to a site with electric. But I don’t care. This wasn’t supposed to be terrifyingly hideous. It was supposed to be “fun.” Yes, it was going to be a challenge but I had encounter enough challenge today. I have my own water tap, my own electric plug, a campfire, lots of firewood and a nice, dry tent. This, I consider, is the height of luxury.

I cooked maple syrup flavoured baked beans (nice, but oddly sweet), spider dogs and roasted foil-and-husk-wrapped corn on the fire. The sunset. The clouds parted to reveal a scattering of stars. I sat cross legged watching the embers of my fire glow. The worries of the day melted like the marshmallow turning to goo in my hot chocolate.

Thankfully the Road of Hell led to something rather heavenly.

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Halfway across Canada

July 15th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (1 Comments)

Day 35: White Lake to Wawa (127.5 km)

How am I still cycling?

I was exhausted yesterday. I have been through exhaustion and out the other side. I have never, ever felt like this. Yet here I am. On a bike. I am still pedalling.

I slept very badly last night due to the humidity and the relentless mosquito hunting. I don’t understand how in a space as vast as northern Ontario these little buggers crowd into my tiny one-person tent. I had a small swarm inside my tent that I was forced to track down one by one with my head torch. I have the technique down a bit better: sweep the head torch down to the end of the torch the sweep up, chasing them with the light, into the roof of the tent before battering into the side of the tent. I’d catch them all then lie back down to sleep before another buzz and a sharp prick in my back tells me another one is still alive. The hunt continued into the small hours. In the morning my tent resembled a battle ground with smeared blood and tangled mosquitoes bodies strewn hither and thither across the yellow canvas.

The second wave of militants arrived as soon as I stepped out the tent. They nibbled at my thighs. The munched at my face and hair. My bug spray is pretty disgusting and slightly ineffective. So I was forced to wear full waterproof garb and a hat despite the heat.

A further misfortune occurred when I managed to knock my coffee over this morning with my thermarest. The thermarest escaped unscathed but, sadly, I had only drunk a few measly sips of the freshly brewed coffee before the incident. As you may know, i do not cope well with life uncaffeinated.

As a result the first 40km to White River were a slog. I ate 2 and a half energy bars to keep me going.

White River is the home of Winnie the Pooh. A large sign with a waving Pooh welcomes you to the small town. The story is that back during the First World War a military man came to White River and purchased a black bear cub as a mascot. He named the bear Winnie after his hometown, Winnipeg. I think having a full sized bear as a mascot seems a tad of an awkward sized pet to have in the military. It left me wondering: did they ever had war bears? Presumably not as when the man went off to fight in France he left his dear Winnie in the care of London Zoo where he was visited by A A Milne and his son Christopher. You know the rest.

White River's most famous homeboy

White River’s most famous homeboy

At White River I paused briefly over the Pooh statue before heading to find some munch needed coffee. I was met by a bearded biker. By biker I mean motorbikes. Seeing me and Monty (and presumably reading my one and only cycling jersey) he struck conversation, clearly having decided that we are kindred spirit. Mr Bearded Biker was on 24 hour, 1,000km mission. He had left Toronto at midnight and was headed to Deluth in Minnesota. Working with out in my head it didn’t seem necessary for him to have left at midnight. The speed limit is 90km per hour. So presumably bikers go at 100km so… 10 hours. Hed be there for brunch. It seemed an odd sort of mission to me.

Ever after coffee I didn’t feel much more energies as I continued to slog into a relentless headwind. I had said goodbye to the Wanderers at the campground so I was cycling alone and there was no hiding from the wind. All day I kept my eyes peeled for moose. Eyre try few kilometres there were signs warning drivers of these kings of the forest. In White River I’d overheard a man exclaiming to his friend that he’d seen a bull moose on the highway that morning. I scanned the pine forest, the open meadows, the swampy bits, the thinning trees, the inlets of the stretching lakes, and checked the creeks running under the bridges but – alas – there was not a moose all day.

I stopped for lunch at the side of Fungus Lake. Every patch of water on the highway is labelled with a signpost so I knew it was Fungus Lake even though there didn’t appear to be a fungus in sight (maybe the moose ate it before it scarpered.) I sat on a rock, slowly nibbling my cheese and crackers, trying to enjoy the cool blue views of the lake and forget the 50km I still had to ride.

I didn’t think I’d make it until I reached 108km. That means 18km to go. I know I can always cycled 18km because its the distance back from work. At the same time I was counting down the kilometres to the magical (yet entirely arbitrary) half way mark. At 3,750km mark I screeched to a halt. Here I am exactly (ish) halfway across Canada. To my right was a swampy bit with some trees poking through the tall grass. Ahead was a signpost advertising the White Fang Motel. The road was a bit cracked and gravelly. The sky was a little clouded over. But Monty and I had made it. I gave out a whoop of joy and then almost immediately felt sad that my adventure was now halfway to the finish.

Monty at the halfway mark

Monty at the halfway mark

I slowly slogged the last few kilometres to the campsite. Without the energy to pitch my tent, I flopped on the earth into a catatonic state. And lay there. Tomorrow is a rest da. Thank goodness.

Halfway across Canada in stats:
Number of miles cycled: 3753 (including a few on rest days)
Longest day (mileage): 173km to Moose Jaw
Longest day (time): 8 hours, 1 minute to White Lake
Shortest day: 38km to Canyon Hot Springs
Monty’s flat tyres: 0 (Schwalbe marathon plus tyres)
Broken spokes: 1
Bike shops visited: 6 (Vancouver, Kelowna, Revelstoke, Swift Current, Winnipeg, and Thunder Bay)
Number of bears spotted: 4 black bears
Number of moose spotted: 0
Number of other trans Canada cyclists met: 13 (!)
Most annoying place to have a mosquito bite: inner foot
2nd most annoying place to have a mosquito bite: outer ankle joint
3rd most annoying place to have a mosquito bite: knuckle on hand
4th most annoying place to have a mosquito bite: ear
5th most annoying place to have a mosquito bite: anywhere on bottom
Number of lakes swum in: 4
Number of bags of ground coffee consumed: 2 and a half
Number of protein bars consumed: countless
Number of reasons to keep going: countless

Day 24: Wawanesa to (almost) Winnipeg (142km)

Here I am sitting cross-legged by the side of the road. As I look up I could be just a few miles from home. I know those fields of rape seed. A horizontal band of ripe yellow under drifting cumulus clouds. But scanning the level horizon I cannot see a hill. No Wittenham Clumps. No Didcot power station. No signpost to Henley or Reading. In that momentary pause between sight and recognition my optimism peaks and falls with a slump of the shoulders. I am not in Oxfordshire. I am in pain.

Yesterday I learnt how to keep going – today I learnt to stop.

I woke up at 6am this morning. Given I’ve just crossed a time zone it felt like 5am and the morning sun hadn’t yet climbed over the line of trees on the far shore of the river. The mosquitoes, however, were awake and out in force, biting any patch of skin that wasn’t covered by at least 3 layers of deet and clothing. I was on the road by 8am with a daunting 200km ride to Winnipeg ahead of me. My cellphone was completely out of signal and I felt quite isolated as I plodded alone along the highway.

There is no hard shoulder on highway 2. The edge of the road just deteriorates into puncture-inducing gravel. I find I can’t relax while cycling as I always have to keep my eye out for traffic. The truck dodging that I commented upon in yesterday’s blog post is like a fatal video game of judgement. But every time an oncoming truck passes me the air current it creates overwhelms me like a crashing wave. It reminds me of swimming in the surf: a wave approaches, you can see it coming and count down. You gasp for breath, duck your head and grip tightly onto the security of your handlebars. Sometimes it’s a relief that the wave doesn’t crash on you but glides past. Sometimes the wave tears at your body and shoots a jet of grit at your skin. It has almost torn the helmet from my head.

The only benefit of these trucks is that, like the sand on a surf beach, the grit that is blasted onto my exposed skin becomes stuck on my sweaty sun-creamed limbs. When I next rub in some more sun cream the effect is very exfoliating. Who knew that the highway could provide its own beauty regime. I also am beginning to develop a Heading East tan. As I continuously pedal east on the highway, my right side is exposed to the southern sun. So while my left side glows a pleasant peachy-brown, my right side is increasingly beetroot.

All morning I fought against the heating sun and the blasting waves of trucks. I managed to keep up a decent speed by consuming an enormous quantity of energy bars, water and fruit. But my legs were beginning to weaken. My knee pain was gradually getting worse. I took painkillers. But my knee wanted rest. I stopped for lunch after 110km. It was still a long, long way to Winnipeg.

After lunch I turned north into a brutal headwind. My speed dropped to less than 16km per hour. At this rate I wouldn’t get to Winnipeg before nightfall. A truck whipped past me and the speed of its wind turbulence swept me off the highway into the gravel. I lay Monty down carefully on the gravel shoulder. I pulled out my emergency ice pack and stuck it on my right knee. I cut up an orange, slurped every bit of its juicy goodness and waited for meaning to come back to me. I put some music on my ipad. And waited. The wind did not abate. The trucks streamed by. And still meaning did not come. And the pain in my knee only seemed to feel worse.

image

I looked down. I forgot myself. I looked up and saw that horizontal band of ripe yellow under drifting cumulus clouds. I felt at home. But in that momentary pause between sight and recognition my optimism peaked and fell. I am not in Oxfordshire. I am in the middle of sodding nowhere with an inflamed knee.

Today has made me question why I am doing this. I have exchanged the comfort of my own bed for a thin thermarest. Instead of soaking in a hot bath, I have swam in a glacier-fed lake. Instead of contentedly ignoring the cool air conditioning in my car I have learnt that mosquitoes can bite through bike shorts. Instead of reading books and browsing BBC news I have begun to read the sky. I swapped the office for the great outdoors. I swapped security for the unknown. I swapped contentment for the oscillating misery and euphoria of life on the road. Why? I still don’t know.

Could I have pushed myself another 63km? Probably yes. But I still have another 5,000km to cycle this summer. I feel a bit crushed to have had to call for a lift to Winnipeg. I had only done 142km of what was supposed to be the great 200km+ ride. The pain in my knee is sharp and stabbing. The tiredness of my body is slow and dull. In the last 6 days I have cycled over 800km. And more than I want to push myself to the limits – I just want to continue.

I hope that my lesson for today will prove to be that knowing when to stop is the same as learning how to keep going.

Mind mapping

May 22nd, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada | Uncategorized - (0 Comments)

It’s difficult to focus in stuff like brand, development, restructures etc when an adventure is hanging on the horizon. Or indeed the office wall.

2pm yesterday – I was sat in a team meeting at work. A huge map of the world was pinned on the wall. Try as I might to focus, my eyes wandered over to the smudgy brown relief of the Rockies.

Today – on the request of my boss, I printed off an A2 Google map of my route and pinned it onto our noticeboard. Given my colleagues keen interest in the wildlife of Canada I added “Here Be Bears” at the appropriate sections. Tomorrow (my last day at work) I may draw on moose, whales and eagles.

I love a good map.
A map is adventure on paper. You don’t even need to leave the house. You can just pull out a good map out, trace a route with your finger and start imagining…

A map isn’t just a picture of the world. It’s a picture of our minds, and a reflection of the way we think about and have acted upon the world. We draw neat lines, boxes, smooth edges and neat corners upon a rugged and tangled world.

Just look at a map of Canada – those dead-straight lines along the provincial borders are the products of history, not geology. Recently I’ve been reading a interesting book about Canadian history. The book points out that having two nations running in horizontal stripes west to east across the North American continent is pretty odd because the physical geography runs more vertically like this:

So over the next 3 and a half months I will be cycling across a single country. But this map shows I’ll also be cycling across 7 different physiographic provinces. What will it be like to witness the transition from the Rockies and the interior highlands to the great plains and Canadian shield?

I can’t wait to watch, at the speed of a bicycle, the slow and majestic unfolding of the riotous colours, vegetations, smells, storms, squawking wildlife spectacles, rock formations and sandy shores that Canada has to show.

I can’t wait to turn my imaginations into memories.

And through the ceaseless tapping of my pedals, I can’t wait to turn the neatly plotted line on the map into my own meadering path across this great and varied continent.

Sunshine and peanut butter

May 20th, 2013 | Posted by Dino in Canada - (1 Comments)

When you imagine living on a boat isn’t the sun always shining?

You picture chugging up and down the leafy waterways of timeless rural landscapes, waving your straw hat in greeting to passing boats, licking ice lollies and lolling on the desk applying sun cream every hour. Bliss.

Cycling across Canada will obviously be a lot like that. Just replace the ice lollies with a peanut butter and jam sandwich, the straw hat with a nodding bike helmet, and the leafy waterways with the Trans Canada Highway and that is exactly what I am expecting.

Sunshine
I have just checked the weather forecast for Vancouver. Next Monday the sun should be out to greet me as I pedal out the airport.

I can hardly believe that I am only 1 small week away from my trip. I’ve spent 8 years dreaming about this. 8 years! What were you doing 8 years ago? I was getting excited about going to Canada for the first time*: packing my bag, emailing friends in Canada, checking my passport for the third time that day to check it hadn’t magically expired since breakfast.

Algonquin park Summer 2005. This isn't instagrammed. It's just a photo taken on a film. Remember those?

Algonquin park Summer 2005. This isn’t instagrammed. It’s just a photo taken on a film. Remember those?

Peanut butter
So not much has changed in eight years then? Nope. I am still me: a Dino is search of adventure and on a mission to discover the land of my birth. Even though I rightly know from my Oxfordian vowels, my inability to ice skate smoothly and the fact that I say ‘alright’ rather than ‘for sure’ that, yes, I am a Brit. However, I do love a good peanut butter sandwich made with jam. I love a good adventure. And I love this sign post:

I took this photo along 8 years ago. Note: perfect blue sky.

I took this photo along 8 years ago. Note: perfect blue sky.

So next week I will adventure** in search of sunshine, peanut butter, and a piece of Canada all to myself.

*I’m not including “being born” in first time.
** ‘adventure’ can be a verb