Jeremy to the West

May 30 2018 Wed $232 Day 16

Did I miss something? Is "wild rose country" code for small pointy objects littering the road? Because 30km outside Calgary, my back tire went out! I tried patching the only remotely puncture-like slit I could find in it, but my efforts failed, forcing me to dismount every 5km or so to refill the bastard.

But I damn well made it. Calgary, baby. I've idolized the very thought of this city over all others in Canada for years. I can't say why, though. Maybe my fantasies have always painted the people as more polite than those of Toronto and the weather as less miserable than that in Vancouver. Not that I've been to either, I suppose.

I rode to a shop first thing and got that tire fixed, as well as a few ease-of-life tunings. The guy working on my bike thought it was, as he kept repeating, "incredible" that I'd come from Winnipeg on a bike. An absolute feat of human endurance. I wonder what he would've thought if I'd mentioned not wearing a chamois from Winnipeg to Regina.

After that little ego boost, I set out to find a motel. It was almost 18:00 when I came to one, so I opted to pay for two nights so that I have a chance to explore the city tomorrow. It's a dinky, overpriced room, but it's on Hwy 1 and hell, I'm in Calgary.

I dropped off my panniers and rode free of the added weight for the first time since strapping them on back home. The bike, it turns out, is light as a feather. I guess I hadn't noticed it before loading it up.

I travelled a short distance to a mall about the same size as Grant Park, where I ordered a meal in the food court. Looking for a table, I noticed a bar with three seats, the far one occupied by a thin man scribbling in a notebook. Against my better judgment, I took the near seat, feeling I shouldn't hog a table with an option like this provided. Plus the man looked quite preoccupied and had no reason to speak to a stranger like me.

But you'd be spot on if you guessed that's exactly what he did.

He opened the conversation by likening himself to Che Guevara, so I immediately knew this was gonna be a real rabbit hole. He spoke—inoffensively and with a degree of respect, mind you—of whites and the systems they've built to benefit themselves, to the detriment of others. His words were carefully crafted to sound as though this lack of regard for other peoples was a sort of innocent negligence, which I thought was interesting. He clearly didn't mean to come off confrontational.

He continued in a soft, quick manner that I had to strain to hear, speaking of unifying his Indigenous brothers, of harnessing celestial energies to manifest one's desires, of truth and addiction and travel and destiny and love.

He was utterly batshit crazy and I was beyond uncomfortable speaking with him. But I guess I'm crazy too, so fuck it. He wasn't harming anyone; he just had to get some stuff off his chest.

Half an hour passed before his friend came along to drag him off. They needed to make a phonecall. He asked if I had a phone and I shook my head. Picking up his journal and sweater, he waved and expressed that he hoped to see me in Vancouver, as he was heading there too.

I sighed in relief once he was gone, but was struck with guilt when I noticed he'd forgotten his pen. I'd feel almost helpless if I had no way of writing things down out here, but I can go buy a pen any time I want. What the hell is a broke guy like him supposed to do?

Saw this joke on a motel sign-in transcript.

Stop throwing spiny shells at me!

Heart of the new west, babyyyy!

Minor car crash in Calgary. On my first day too. What a treat.

I only wish my camera could've picked up the cityscape that my eyes did.

Sky walk over the Trans Canada. Looking trafficky.