In 2018 I rode my bicycle across Western Canada, covering about 2300km. It's been two years and I figured I'd release my journal entries here for anyone interested in what a trip like this does to a person's sanity.
Given that they're real-life jou...
Oh, she's done it now. She saved it for the first day of stage two just to set the tone. Mother Nature's finally rained on me.
I dropped my phone in a motel toilet last night. It was the funniest damn thing in the world until, after setting it in a bag with some drying salt packs, it still didn't function properly in the morning. Few of my solicitudes are so pressing as the state of my phone so far from home, so it should be noted that the impetuosity displayed in finding a Rogers store to buy a new one wasn'tthatuncalled for. Or I could just be an idiot. The unending internal debate continues (redundant adjective).
After hours of waiting for my out-of-stock upgrade to arrive and for the data on my old device to transfer over, I hit the road at 14:00, feeling fine as ever in my chamois shorts. After some time, I even decided to remove my pants. The wind through my thigh hair was refreshing and I gotta say I wear the hell outta short shorts.
Things didn't stay so cheerful, though, as an explosive gust threatened to throw me off the road. The wind continued in this manner and soon I felt the first icy droplet hit my ear. I considered my raincoat immediately, but first glanced up. Light grey clouds. "You're bluffing," I muttered through my teeth.
She wasn't.
Fearing for the integrity of my new shorts, I reluctantly fished out my raincoat. And riding through that miserable grey shower, it's the darndest thing, but I began to laugh. There I was, practically the middle of nowhere, in the rain, wearing a long T-shirt and short shorts, wrapped in a neon yellow raincoat, hood drawn over my head, helmet perched over top, riding a fucking bicycle. I must've looked like a fool.
At one point, I spotted a sign stating it was 10km south to Drinkwater. I thanked the sign for its insight, noting that I was ironically parched, and lifted my open mouth skyward. At this, I was rewarded with a mouthful of road mist, courtesy of a passing livestock transport.
I spit into the ditch and resumed chuckling into my handlebars, the tip of my nose tickled by a droplet clinging by surface tension like a stalactite. The taste of salt on my lips, come down from my running nostrils, filled with the scent of wet asphalt. My hands and feet warmly soaked. In the middle of nowhere. Wearing a long T-shirt and short shorts. Wrapped in a neon yellow raincoat. Hood drawn over my head. Helmet perched over top. Riding a bicycle.
Yes, I'm a fool.
But it's a little bit fantastic.
Rode this stretch with true patriot love.
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Setting the camera up for a real stupid shot.
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Don't I look great in these shorts?
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