Sometimes I get a little silly. I get carried away, and over-excited. For instance, one New Years Eve, while attending and performing at Hank and Lily's NYE Extravaganza at the Copper , I took exception to the security guard, who was brought in for the occasion to work the door. We got off to a bad start when he asked me to move my bicycle so that it wasn't blocking the fire exit: I offered, instead, to light the bicycle on fire much to his bewilderment.
Not many people know this, but there was a time long ago when a massive body of water occupied the space between what we now know as “Manitoba” and “Alberta.” “Saskatchewan,” now a long, skinny chunk of continent, along with its wheat fields, potash deposits, and rivers, was once a peg-shaped island on the North American side of the Pacific, not far from where my journey began. However, soon after dust from the asteroid impact that smashed the dinosaur-era had finally settled, a massive swarm of mosquitos carried “Saskatchewan” over coast, Rockies, and prairie, triumphantly dropping it into place like the last piece of a massive puzzle: it was their perfect habitat. The descendants of these winged terrorists continue to plague all who pass through Canada’s bread basket.
It was a spectacular ride in spite of the wind. I often wonder if the Trans-Canada Highway was designed for aesthetics rather than functionality. On the bike, I find that I get a better sense of the environments I am in. Be it Kamloops’ desert heights, the spectacular river valley of Field, or the terrifying beauty of Rogers’ Pass, I was continually in awe as I rode with the wind in my face.