Hornby Island Exploration

/in /by

Later on that sunny Sunday, I sat on the co-op porch, soaking in the atmosphere of the community hub. It wasn’t before too long that the old man who gave me directions to the gravel pit wandered by. William, or “Bobcat”, as he called himself, was an ex-pat with a matted white beard and weathered, smokey hands. He had a weekly radio program on the once pirate, now legitimate local radio station (that only broadcasts far enough for one side of the island to tune in.) The station was built by volunteers, out of spare parts they had sitting in their garages. Curious to see what this local radio station was like, I asked if he minded me sitting in with him during his broadcast.

“Sure, any time. Come on in tomorrow night.”

“I just may do that,” I replied.

As he pulled out his leather tobacco pouch and rolled another cigarette, we got to talking about music. He’s a blues harp player, originally picked it up because it was the most portable instrument he could take with him on the road. I asked him where he was from, and he responded with his aged crackling voice, “the road”.

I mean, where are you really from? I asked.

“Originally? From the states. In the 70’s, I received a ticket to a jungle in the far east, complete with a free uniform and a license to kill. I said, hell, Canada is closer and I won’t be gettin’ shot at! After that, I never returned.”

I told him I was tempted to do the same with the way things were going inside our own borders.

“How is it possible for you to become a citizen if you ran away from your own country?” I asked. “Didn’t they come looking for you?”

“It took me 6 years. From ’70 to ’76 I dealt with the Canadian government to get my resident status. Finally, I was offered citizenship.”

I didn’t probe much further on how exactly he managed to get his resident status, but part of me was skeptical that the Canadian government would be that lenient with refugees nowadays.

“You see all the farms around here?” He asks me with an inquisitive expression.

“Yeah”

“Farmers always need a hand. All you gotta do is tell them you’re there to help. They don’t care where you’re comin’ from or where you’re goin’. They’ll put you to work and you’ll be able to stay here.”

Part of me lit up with the wild idea that maybe I could do something like that. The idea of having dual citizenship really appeals to me, especially considering that in Canada, if I’m hit by a truck on the side of a road while I’m biking across the islands, my medical bills would be paid for, regardless of my employment status. I told Bobcat about my friend who is $20,000 in debt because he had appendicitis. What a raw deal. Get sick, go into debt. Great job, America.

“You see, here, we pay higher taxes, but we’re taken care of. You just don’t need to worry about medical expenses.”

He’s not kidding about the higher taxes. Here, they have recently shoved through legislation that combines two taxes into one super tax, called the Harmonized Sales Tax, or HST for short. Through the combined taxes, you will pay nearly 25% tax on all your purchases, including services such as hair cuts. Ouch. As I write this, citizens are fighting to repeal the increase on taxes.

“You know, tomorrow morning, the Hope Kitchen will be giving out free food. You should stop by”

I asked whether this was like Food Not Bombs.

“Sure, it’s similar to that. We make pickups from local farmers, and give out excess food to people who need it.”

“That’s awesome. Back in Portland, I was helping out with Food Not Bombs, helping cook and make pickups by bike trailer. We would go to the farmers markets and get loads of perfectly good food. It’s amazing how much food there is that otherwise goes to waste.”

Once when my dad called me, I was helping out in the kitchen, I told him about Food Not Bombs, he said it was “God’s Work” that I was doing. I just think everyone deserves to not go hungry when there is clearly enough food to go around.

“Well,” I began, “I’m going to go bike around some more. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget, there’s music tonight at the bakery,” he added.

I wouldn’t forget. I brought my flute with me all this way, and i was going to see to it that I would play it alongside other musicians. Hopping onto my bike, I rolled on down a long gravel hill until I reached the ocean bay.

Swimmers, sunbathers, yachters and sea plane pilots carried on their leisurely enjoyment of the tranquil turquoise waters.

The golden summer sunshine streamed through fields of amber-tinged grasses and puffy white seed orbs attached to long green stems, it was a beautiful scene that I couldn't help but photograph.

I wanted to capture the perspective of a small animal running through the foliage...

After exploring the beach some more, I decided to head back to camp to make sure my stuff was all still there and to get my flute ready for playing. It was always a gamble, sometimes I may find a way onto the stage to play, other times not, but I figured I would give it a shot.

A long bumpy ride up the hill, and I arrived at the cardboard house pizza shop and bakery, where there was a sitar player strumming hypnotically in front of a grassy hill full of people of all ages. Children were chasing each other underneath the apple and pear trees, while young parents chatted over piping-hot pizza. There were all sorts of interesting people, including a few older folks who were dressed like it was 1969. I was liking this place more by the minute. The first thing I did was assemble my flute, because I immediately knew what to play. I sat down nearby the stage and began to play, to see if the performing sitarist would notice. He seemed to acknowledge me, but I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to play. I walked up to the stage and asked him if he wanted me to play. He was kind of busy playing, so only had the time to utter something to the effect of, “Talk to me later…” So, I got a few slices of pizza and started chatting with the locals. I talked with a woman whose family goes back several generations on the island. She said her last name was Depape, which I thought was interesting, because that was the last name of my first girlfriend. She was amazed at such a coincidence. I’m not sure they were really related, though.

During the interlude, the sitar player told me he might be able to let me play at the end of the set.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a really good ear for music and should be able to jump right in.”

“We’ll see. It’s a gamble, but I’ll give you a chance.”

Not that I want any ego gratification out of performing, but I love proving myself if there’s any shadow of a doubt that I’m capable. I don’t need to rehearse before performing with a new group, unless it’s something with many quick key changes like modern jazz. But this was slow, relaxing music that would be easy to improvise on top of.

Patiently, I awaited my turn to step onto the stage. After the next 10 minute song, the sitar player nodded and asked if I wanted to come up.

“Sure!” I gleefully responded.

I got up on stage with my flute, and the music began softly, and I had to wait a minute before it seemed like a good time to drop in. Once the beat started, I chimed in with a few melodies, adding another layer of harmonies. We played for 15 minutes or so, and I thanked the guys and packed up my instrument. I was offered free pizza and a lemon tart, which I couldn’t say no to. And to my surprise, the sitar player dug a 20 dollar bill out of the tip jar and gave it to me.

“I can’t take that…” I said, knowing that he was soon to have a wedding with the mother of his 7 month old child.

“No, really, take it. You’re not even from this country!”

I didn’t know what being from the states had to do with accepting payment for playing flute for a few minutes, but I replied, “You’re very generous, thank you,” and I took the bill. It was a nice surprise to be initially met with skepticism and then rewarded with a little food and cash once I delivered a solid performance.

The more I decide to stop thinking and start acting, the more I realize I can never know what life will offer me — until I ask. As night creeped further upon us, the air grew chillier and I said farewell to the musicians. I rode my bike back light as a feather, without all the luggage, it felt like a speed racer. The cool summer evening air blew back my hair and I looked up at the moonless sky, the stars penetrated the atmosphere brighter than I’ve seen in a long time. Life was looking up, and I was beginning to fall in love with the island.

Parksville to Denman & Hornby Islands

/in /by

As I sit here sipping hot creamy coffee, I can smell the salty spice home fries cooking up in the kitchen here at Jan’s Café on Hornby Island. Looking back on the past few days, I begin to see what they mean when they say that cycle touring can often be more of a mental challenge than a physical one. But right now, sitting shaded in the cob and oak building in the community hub, looking out at the bustling heart of the island, I feel rather content. I couldn’t have asked for better weather the past week. And the forecast is nothing but sunshine interrupted by one partly cloudy day. Though the sun has burned me where I failed to block it, I enjoy it for the beautiful sunrises and sunsets, the light streaming through the forest onto the mossy earth in the mornings, the leisurely pace of the summer, and the carefree days of riding without worrying about rain soaking my gear. I have yet to purchase a rainproof sack for my camping gear, but I’m not worried about it right now.

The day started with some hot honey peanut butter oatmeal, my favorite easy camp breakfast. I salt the water to boil it as quickly as possible — this way I preserve my fuel canister’s longevity. Add some powdered milk, oats, stir it up, toss in a spoonful of peanut butter and honey, and if you’re feeling gourmet, add a spoonful of rich coconut butter. The result? A hearty, rib-sticking breakfast that will power you for a morning ride up many hills. I pack up my tent as quickly as I set it up, and leave the hordes of screaming children at the wooded camp-suburbia known as Rathtrevor Beach Provincial Park.

I decide that I should head north to try to make it to Cortes Island for a supposedly epic party happening over the weekend. That’s another 100km away, and I have only been doing 50 a day. So, it looks like I wouldn’t make it until Saturday night or Sunday morning. I decide that if I decide not to go all the way, I can catch the ferry to Lasqueti Island, or if I go further, Hornby Island. Both islands I have heard good things about. A friend told me at this year’s Pickathon festival to check out Lasqueti. I don’t remember exactly what he said about it, other than there were a lot of cool people there. I since learned that they are completely off the grid. Most people there run their own solar power, or don’t have power at all. As I neared the departure point for Lasqueti, I stopped into the bay to think some more about what I wanted to do. While I looked out over the salty harbor in Parksville, an older gentleman of about 60 years approached me, telling me about his cycling tour around Australia. He strongly recommended it as my next destination, saying something to the effect of “if I were a dictator I would force you to go there”. I told him I’ve been to New Zealand and loved it, and would definitely consider Australia. The roads are rough there, he said, so you’d have to get yourself some thicker tires and a mountain bike frame. I told him I would definitely look into it. I told him I was considering going to Cortes Island for this party, and he said if I wanted to get there faster, there was a bus station at Qualicum Beach that could take me to Campbell River, where I could ferry hop to Cortes Island. I thought that sounded like a good idea, because I was feeling like I needed to meet more people, to make more connections. After all, solo cycling can get kind of lonesome at times. Life on the road is like that, though. You meet people, then you say goodbye, and repeat. Still, I felt like something good would come of it if I could make it to Cortes. So I headed north, thinking I might catch a bus the rest of the way so I wouldn’t miss the party.

Once I arrived in Qualicum Beach, I found the info booth where I was referred to, and I inquired about the fare for the bus. It was $39, plus I’d have to box up my bike just to transport it on the Greyhound bus. And there weren’t any boxes big enough to fit my bike around for a long ways. Damn you Greyhound! I wish they would get with the times and add a bike rack on the front of the bus. Perhaps it was meant to be, though. I didn’t want to shell out that kind of money to get my lazy butt 100km north. I’m here with my bike, and bike I shall. So, I did the only thing I had the option to do. I kept pedaling north.

An hour or two later, a guy around my age pedals up behind me and says hello. We chat a bit as we ride, and I learn that his destination is Hornby island to crash at a friend’s house for the night. It was another couple hours to the ferry, so we ended up riding together and talking about bikes and how going down the hills is the best part.

When we pulled into Buckley bay, I realized that the skin on my thighs were feeling rather burned. That morning, I had donned my ultra-tight biking shorts that exposed more pale skin than any other shorts I own. And of course, I didn’t apply sunscreen, because, frankly, I usually only put on sunscreen after I’ve gotten burned. The sun just feels great until it’s too late. I had pedaled 55km, it was late afternoon, and I just felt like being done with biking for the day considering my burn. So I said what the hell, I’ll come to Hornby Island while I’m here. After all, I had heard good things about it from several different people.

So, here’s the route I ended up taking… You can see the hop between the islands over the course of a few days:

The first thing that greeted me on Denman island, the in-between island, was, you guessed it! A big-ass hill. At least I had a new friend to laugh about the ridiculous grade of the hill with. I noticed that riding with a partner made the unbearable parts of the ride a lot more bearable. He told me I should check out Fillongley Provincial Park for camping. The ferry attendants had told me that it was all full, but as usual, I wanted to see for myself if there was a place to throw down a tent. I struggled up the hill, and enjoyed its downhill counterpart on the way to the park. My new cycling friend disappeared, before I could say farewell, and I rolled into the park. Of course, it was full, as I had heard. But, past all the cars, I kept going, over the cement barrier, past the sand pits that threatened to grind down all the sensitive parts of my bike, and pulled into the most perfectly flattened area just past a few rows of trees along the beach. This was the best place to pitch a tent, ever. The air was thick with the smell of ocean and pine, and I rested against a tree, paying attention to the rhythmic ebbing of the tide. After taking the site in for a few minutes, I set out to take a few photos of the area.

This is where I ended up pitching a tent, even though the campground was "full". Didn't look full to me!

Nice sunset!

The paths around the park weren't all that bad. Kinda nice, actually.

After cooking myself a quick dinner of quinoa flakes, dehydrated black beans and lentils (as per usual), and a tortilla with butter I got from a café in Nanaimo, I was satiated and felt the weight of my eyelids grow, pulling me into a restful sleep in my comfy sleeping bag.

At 6AM, I briefly awoke to a gorgeous eastern sunrise.

The first picture I took from inside my tent when I awoke at 6.

Knowing that the sunlight changes quickly, I hopped out of my tent in nothing but my underwear to snap a few photos.

One of the most beautiful sunrises I've seen yet on my trip.

Satisfied with the gorgeous photos I just acquired, I went back to sleep for another hour or so. When I awoke, I decided to check out the Denman Saturday Farmers market. There, I talked to a few people about what I should check out on the island. I heard that most people pass straight through Denman on their way to Hornby. I wanted to give Denman a chance at showing me its beauty, so I decided to start biking towards Chickadee lake, where I heard, there was a huge rope swing. About halfway there and the road turns into gravel. Not my favorite surface to bike on, by any means. Especially considering the thin profile of the tires and the weight of all my gear. Though I kept pedaling in hopes of soon feeling the cool water envelop me after flying briefly through the air. Soon, I would encounter a difficult road.

It’s when I’m climbing the steepest hill I’ve ever climbed –and it’s loose gravel– that I sometimes wonder why I punish myself like this. No pain, no gain, right? Life is a series of overcoming struggles to prevail with a sense of accomplishment. That is what I try to keep in mind as I push with all my strength to keep from toppling over. I found myself pushing myself up this gravel hill without even knowing for sure if it was the right way to get to Chickadee Lake. There wasn’t anybody around to ask directions from, and the map I had wasn’t really helping all that much. After the gravel turned into sand, and the bike could no longer stay balanced, I felt rather frustrated. I could see the lake from up high, and I realized I had gone the wrong way. At least it was mostly downhill back to the intersection where I went astray. At the bottom of the hill, I saw a gorgeous girl pedal by, and I asked whereabouts I might find this lake. She gave me the proper directions and I followed them, finding the lake successfully. Here was the legendary local’s swimming hole with a big rope swing.

They weren't kidding, this rope swing was huge.

I decided that it was still chilly in the shade, and I wasn’t overheating in the sun any longer. So I waited on the rope swing. I did lay on a halfway torn up dock and sunbathe for a bit before I jumped in. The water was so crisp, clear, and almost warm. It was a delight for the senses and a great escape from the heat of the sun. I had the entire lake to myself, minus the distant echoes of unseen children across the lake. It was peaceful here, almost too much so. There was nobody around, and I felt like I should be taking advantage of the solace and meditate some more. I did that for a little bit, but felt a nagging feeling that I wanted some company, someone to enjoy the peace with.

I was reminded of Into The Wild, where the main character said in the end that after escaping the masses of people in the cities, he realized that it was human connections that was all that really mattered. I was feeling that I should find a place with more people and be more proactive about meeting them. How was I to reconcile the urge to turn within for happiness and the opposite urge of seeking happiness through connections with others? I have yet to discover the answer. My first instinctual response is balance. Balancing time alone in quite solitude and time with friends. Part of solo traveling is not really have a core group of friends with you, it seems. In Nanaimo, I met a few fun guys to hang out with, but something told me I had to keep moving, so we parted ways just hours after we met and went to have beers together.

After enjoying the sun and the lake, I kept moving. I decided to check out Boyle point park, I heard it was nice from some of the locals. Onward I pedaled, in search of my next camping site. A half hour later, I was at the trailhead to the park. And it was gravel again. Also adjacent to me was the ferry to Hornby Island. Still recalling the experience with gravel earlier in the day, I decided to just go straight to Hornby.

More hills, of course. Oh well, I decided to head to the nearest provincial park, 8km away. There was no camping allowed, but you know me by now. I would find a place to camp. Before I got to the park, I saw a cute little town center, where everything was closed for the day (the sun was only beginning to set). I saw an older guy with a draping white beard, just sitting on a bench by himself. I asked him if he lived on the island, for how long, and if he enjoyed it. He said he loved it. He advised that if I was looking for a free place to camp for the night, I should check out this unmarked road past the baseball field. He said nobody would fuck with me there. Stealth camping in highly visited areas can put one slightly on edge, so I decided to go ahead and seek out the lesser known place to pitch a tent for the night. I noticed on my ride to the site that there was a “movie night” and they were showing “The Tree of Life” at the community center. After days alone in the woods, seeing a movie seemed like a nice change of pace. I set up my tent, quicker than ever, and headed to see the movie. Naievely, I thought it would be a free movie. It was not. It would take 7 bucks to get in. I decided, like I usually do in those kinds of situations, what the hell, just this once. I smelled popcorn after I entered, and buttery kernels of popped corn sounded nice. It would really top off the movie night experience. One bag of corn later, and the movie begins. The first thing I notice is the awful hissing sound of the film. Either their sound system sucked, or the film itself was noisy, I don’t know. I shrugged it off, thinking I would just get used it. An hour later of slow-paced mournful cinema and a kid who coughed every 30 seconds, and I decided to call it quits. I was far from the first person to leave. I think this film was too artsy fartsy for most people there. They probably just came because it had Brad Pitt in it. Yawn. Time for bed.

After an uneventful night of sleep (preceded by various sounds of midnight creatures prowling around my tent), I awoke to more sunshine. I decided I would go back down to the café and co-op area to refill my supplies and update the site. And that leads me up to now, where I’ve been typing away for the last few hours, drinking coffee and eating home fries. I think I’ll go ride around and check out some of the parks. Maybe I’ll find a better spot to pitch a tent, who knows?

Nanaimo to Parksville

/in /by

The closest photo i've ever gotten of a bald eagle. Not very scenic, but still cool...

Today I’m starting off with a picture that I took in Vancouver, but that’s ok. I didn’t really take any photos yesterday because I was too busy hauling ass up 2,000 feet of elevation gain. I saw this eagle when I was riding through Stanley park. It was cool to see such a magnificent animal up close(ish).

Here’s my ride from yesterday.

It was pretty intense going up and down all those hills with my 100lb load. On the road, some cyclists passed me up and chatted for a minute while we were climbing a hill. One of the cyclists told me there was a really nice campground nearby. So I checked it out, it’s called Rathtrevor Beach Provincial Park.There were way too many kids there. It was like a suburbia in the woods with all these families and SUV’s and camper vans. I found a place to stealth camp for the night because I was too exhausted to move on. Overall, good day, but my knees aren’t at 100% strength or resilience right now. I’m going to try to ride high on the back of my saddle so it’s easier on my knees. On my way out of the park this morning, I ran into a couple from Holland, they were interested in where I was from and where I was going. The man gave me a few tips… such as, if you want to be able to stand up when you’re riding, you want a thicker frame than I have, because otherwise it will wobble the minute you get off the saddle. He’s right. The thin tube is pretty flexible and wobbles like jelly when I stand up. Bummer. Noted for next time! Maybe I should have invested in a Surly Long Haul Trucker bike, I heard they’re a dream for touring. Overall, I’m still pretty happy with the bike I’ve got though. I haven’t gotten a single flat tire in 200 miles. That’s something to be thankful for. Knock on wood!

Newcastle Island

/in /by

On Tuesday, I arrived at Newcastle Island with my bike, and greeted with lots of trees, stretches of brown grass and gravel roads. Though not ideal road bike conditions, I was able to ride on the gravel without any issues. The Schwalbe Marathon tires that I have on my bike have made it so far without any punctures, so I wasn’t too worried about riding on gravel. My first impressions of the island were that it was so nice not to have to ride with cars while I was there. Nothing but relaxation! The other thing I noticed was that the price of camping was kind of high. It was $16 per camp site. The sites were a little to pre-fab for me, so I took liberty in bending the rules while I was there. I decided right then that I was going to stealth camp on a more beautiful part of the island and forego the touristy feeling paid camp sites. I did get lots and lots of great photos on Newcastle Island, which I will share with you here…

Vancouver to Nanaimo

/in /by

The ride to Horse Shoe Bay was kind of grueling and sweaty. The weather was rather hot on Monday, and the 23 mile ride to the ferry seemed longer than 23 miles. The elevation gain was something around 2,500 feet! Part of the huge elevation gain was an unnecessary climb to follow the road signs to the ferry. Little did I know, that route was only for cars, and I could have skipped the whole detour and saved myself some sweat. Oh well, I don’t regret it now, my legs are stronger for it. But, boy, was I exhausted when I got to the ferry.

The ferry ride was uneventful, and I just rested and recuperated from the ride. I found the most fascinating thing about the ferry ride to be the textures of the water as the ferry pulled into Nanaimo.

Looking down at the water as the ferry pulled into harbor

I also got a few photos of an inspiring sunset from the decks of the ferry.

An inspiring sunset on the shimmering crystalline waters of Departure Bay

I pulled into Nanaimo around 7pm or so, and set out to figure out where I would be camping. I rode around the city and took a few photos, and before I knew it, the light was gone and I was going to find a place to pitch a tent after dark. I saw a group of young people gathered on my ride. I asked what was going on, one of the guys told me it was a rock concert and his band was playing. I asked him where a good place to crash for the night would be. He recommended a place called Piper’s Lagoon. He gave me directions and I tried to follow them. After riding on a highway (which was really not pleasant, I might add), I gave up and decided to find an interim location to spend the night. Luckily, I was riding down a steep hill when I saw a couple sitting still, watching a deer up the hill. I figured if a deer thought it was an alright place to hang out, so would I. I asked if they thought it would be a good place to pitch a tent, they said yes. So, I pushed my 100 pound bike (not very gracefully, I might add) up a gravel-laden hill and pitched my tent in a corner where there was a lot of tall grass.

My first night in Nanaimo was spent in this public field. In the morning, I talked with a woman who was afraid that I was some sort of junkie/thief before I introduced myself to her and her children as they were picking blackberries the next morning.

When I awoke in the morning, I realized it had been raining. Thankfully, I had the foresight to put up my rain fly the day before. It rained until about 10:30am, and I stayed in my tent the whole morning to write in my journal and relax. It was then that I heard some children picking blackberries, and heard their mother say “don’t go near the tent”. I realized they were talking about my tent. Funny (and understandable) how mothers assume the worst about people who are camping in cities. To them I was a potential threat. Luckily, she was rather friendly once I came out of my tent and introduced myself. After eating many delicious blackberries, I packed up my bike and headed out to see if I could find Piper’s Lagoon. Well, I did end up finding it. It was beautiful, but not a very good place to go bike camping. To get on the trail, you had to hike up above some boulders. Not ideal for my heavy bike. I was also somewhat disappointed that it was cloudy that day, because I didn’t get any spectacular photos of the lagoon. I told myself I would come back another day when the sunset would be free of clouds. I was feeling rather hot and sticky, like I really needed a shower from the hard climbs the day before. So, I decided to head back into downtown Nanaimo to stay at a hostel for the night. I ended up at the Cambie again (different city this time) because it seemed to be the only hostel around. It was, like in Vancouver, above a bar. Not nearly as noisy though, thankfully. I got a room for the night, and made sure to take advantage of the free wireless internet, power, and showers. I felt much better after that shower.

The next day, I wasn’t sure exactly what to do, so I packed up my things and tried to contact a few people that were mentioned to my by a friend in Portland named August, who had lived in BC for several years. Without any luck, I decided to try something else. I rode down to the area where the ferries arrived, and saw a sign for “Newcastle Island”. I read on the internet that it was a rather nice destination, and a short ferry ride, not to mention not that pricey. It was $9 for a two-way trip to the island. It was a no-brainer, because the whole island was a nature preserve, there were no cars, and you could camp there.

My bike, loaded up on top of the Newcastle Island ferry.

Vancouver, BC By Bike

/in /by

So, it appears that I’ve finally decided to commit to start this travel journal. I’ll begin by remarking that my dreams last night were intense. I was in portland with some people when I saw a huge explosion and realized it was a nuclear bomb and the following mushroom cloud erupting. Everyone around was frantic. I tried to inquire about what was happening. I learned that the bomb dropped over Seattle. It must have been a hydrogen bomb because it was large enough to see from Portland. I remember telling myself “this must be a dream”. But somehow, I didn’t realize that it really was a dream.

Anyway, it looks like I have some catching up to do — so I’ll try to recount how I ended up camping in an undeveloped public space in Nanaimo. My idea to do this trip started after I went to Pender island in March with Jacki. Pender Island is one of the many islands in the Gulf Islands chain in Canada. It was breathtakingly beautiful and relaxing, and I vowed to come back with my bike some day. After 5 months, that vow has now been fulfilled. Canada seemed like a good escape from the city and from my Job at Jama Software. (Woah, I just realized Jacki’s initials are JS, and so is Jama Software. And I programmed in Java Script at that job. Funny coincidence.) When I was working the 9 to 5, I had an overwhelming desire to detach myself from the shackles of any sort of fulltime job while I had the option to do so. Call me naive, but I want to live a life that embodies freedom. I know that traveling right now is draining on my reserves of cash, and that some day I will have to find a way to replenish those reserves. But for now, I’m enjoying waking up not knowing where I will end up that night, and being able to bicycle around one of the most beautiful areas of Canada. I remember reading something on a bike blog about the joys of bicycle touring. When all the cares in the world are reduced to the most simple things — the sound of the tires on the road, the meditative state of long-distance cycling, simple meals cooked in the forest, waking up to birdsong or the trickling of a stream. All of these things are making every day worth the low cost of touring.

I think I’m getting off-topic. I’ll do a quick recount of how the trip has played out so far. I took the train on a Thursday evening to Vancouver, BC. Instead of waiting in the long line to cross the Canadian border, I quite enjoyed the convenience of loading up my bike onto the train and postponing the customs process until we actually arrived in Vancouver. On the train, I ran into long time friend of the family Jill. At first she didn’t recognize me, but after a few seconds she was smiling and asking if she could sit with me at the bar to chat. We talked about how great it was that I was following my heart, that I had the courage to resign my job and go on this long-awaited adventure. She said she did a similar trip when she was my age and said it was the best thing she had done for herself. The timing for me couldn’t be better — I have no job, no relationship, no children to speak of. Basically, nothing is holding me back from taking the time to embark on a journey of self-discovery by bike. Part of this trip is about me learning to take life at a slower pace, to stop thinking so much and to meditate more often in nature.

After 8 hours on the train, we finally arrived. At the customs gate, the officer asked me questions about where I lived, what I was doing in Canada, how long I would be there, and whether or not I would “get stranded” in Canada (I think they assume that if you’re on a bike, you must not have much money). I told him I had savings in the bank. Thankfully, he didn’t ask to see a bank statement or anything too intrusive. I’ve heard some people being denied border crossing because they don’t have any money. I’ve begun to think they only let people cross the border anymore for economic reasons alone. I’m envious of anybody with any Native blood in their family, because they don’t have to have a passport, and they get to cross the border no questions asked.

When I arrived in Vancouver, it was 11:30 PM, and I needed to find the Cambie Hostel, where I would meet with my old roommate/renter Deepak. Our plan was to explore Vancouver by bike for a few days. And that we did. He had a Bike Friday folding bike which he took on the train. On friday, he was at a Linux conference, so I spent the day noodling around the city by bike. I went on a 32 kilometer ride (20 miles). On this ride, I encountered a few steep hills and a colorful character (whose name I forgot…) I started talking to him because of all of his crazy bikes that he had been working on. He had all sorts of trinkets and gadgets attached to his bikes. It reminded me of bikes I have seen in Portland. After talking to him for a while, he told me he was broke and offered to sell me a brooks-style leather saddle for my bike for $20. I had heard only good things about brooks saddles, so I said sure, why not. I got the saddle and only when I installed it at the hostel later did I realize that it wasn’t really my kind of saddle. So, I left it at the hostel, and wasted $20. Oh well, he needed the money anyhow, and it was fun talking to him. It was kind of funny/sad that halfway through my conversations with him, I realized he was hanging out with a crack dealer in front of this crack house. I noticed people walking in and out over and over, and asked “Is this some kind of drug dealer’s house?”. He replied in turn, saying “That’s very observant of you. We’ve got the best crack in town. We specialize in hookers”…. Despite his near toothless grin, I somehow still had respect for the man, and saw him as a man who had been through tough times, yet still managed to follow his passion for creating things, and I respected him for that.

The next day, Deepak and I went on a ride to Deer Lake, which was a rather quaint little antique style pavilion set in a forested park with a decent sized lake.

We relaxed under the shade of a tree, and talked a lot about life, relationships, enlightening experiences, and much more. After the sun receded a bit and was less intense, we kept rolling on our day trip. We stopped at this burger restaurant by a river, and had some pretty decent burgers. Deepak got the fabled “turducken” burger. I have only heard about this near-mythical culinary creation. I heard it was good. I opted for the tried-and-true bacon cheeseburger, and was not disappointed.

On our ride back, one of the things I noticed was that at night, their walk signal buttons react immediately to pressing them. If I want to cross, they will almost instantly turn off the intersecting traffic light just for us cyclists and pedestrians. Just an example of how Vancouver is one of the best cities for cycling. As the dark enclosed around us, I was thankful for my Reelite magnetic induction powered lights. With each revolution of each wheel, the lights flash twice via a strong magnet attached to my spokes. No batteries required! Ingenious…

By the fourth day in Vancouver, I had my fill of the noisy city, and was ready to press onward. I wanted to get closer to the gulf islands, so I decided to ride up to Horse Shoe bay and take the ferry to Nanaimo.