We’re planning a Sheldon Brown Memorial ride ourt here in Portland – all sorts of fun mayhem on a Tuesday afternoon. SB was a true original and we want to see if we can get rides going all over the country to honor is contributions and his love of a good April Fool’s Joke.
How can you go wrong with a music video that includes bicycles, Donnie Darko type masks, did I mention bicycles, a pretty girl, night riding and the whole ET vibe all rolled into a three minute song – BTW, the song uses a drum beat opening that is pulled right from the song Leader Of The Pack. Nice work. Happy Halloween!
Now that it’s come to a close, I want to put a bit of soundtrack to our summer across Canada. These were songs we sang, I butchered, or we hummed when it got too hard to sing, others were tunes rattling around in my head during all those miles of pulling the burden of my generation across northern provinces, still other songs popped up on radios at reststops. A few were even played live in campgrounds along the way.
Maybe you’ve heard some of these tunes before, or perhaps I’m turning you on to a few new artists. Either way, enjoy! Canada’s adventure on wheels topped our last roll out the gate across America with the boys, and that’s saying something. Soak in the sounds of this time we had together as a family… untethered from everything but each other and the open road.
The Kooks: She Moves In Her Own Way
Jack Johnson’s Breakdown:
Ben Harper: Burn One Down
Fatboy Slim: That Old Pair Of Jeans (check out the juggling)
Wilco: Jesus Etc.
Spoon: The Underdog
Saskatoon – called The Paris of The Prairies by our close friends who live there – was the terminus of our trip in Western Canada – We had a plane to catch if we wanted to honor commitments in Nova Scotia – namely the shows I was
scheduled to perform in Annapolis Royal, at historic Kings Theater, and at The Lobster Galley at St. Annes in Cape Breton. But before we boarded a plane we had some catching up to do with our favorite Cunucks – Jim and Anne Seimens – along with their salt of the earth and feisty parents Audry and Peter (thanks again for all the hospitality, gardening, geocaching, the scrabble battle, and wonderful meals).
We got to enjoy Saskatoon on what was arguably their last day of summer. Crisp blue skies and 75 degrees greeted us and the threat of snow flurries ushered us to the airport. In between, Quinn reunited with Teilo, his good friend since he was six months old and we recuperated from all those miles along the Yellowhead. Beth came down with a wicked head cold but she is like the energizer bunny – the hardest day of our adventure turned out too be the red eye flight to Halifax. I’m not the smartest bear in the woods, thus I forgot about the time change – an eight hour flight turned into a 4 hour trip arriving at 3am our time – followed by a two hour plus car ride to a magical little burg called Annapolis royal on the south side of Nova Scotia – Beth let me sleep so I could be human for the show that evening – and we even managed to squeeze in some sightseeing before the sun went down – it’s amazing to be on one side of the continent and then another in such a short span of time – this truly has been the family trip of a lifetime.
The pedal from Jasper to Edmonton is worthy of a book all on its own – highlights include a massive black bear lumbering through Pocahontas Lodge playground while we played, cresting the highest point on the Yellowhead Hwy, only to face a series of hills that must have been the second, third and fourth highest spots on said hwy, grasshopper races outside of Edson, Beth sporting a bikers tan and a Tour de France attitude, one day that included temperature ranges of 40 degrees, rain-jackets, fleece and a final push to a clean room in a dump of a truck stop – where we decided while in Rome and went for broke by eating in the adjacent trucker’s restaurant. My eyes were drawn to the menu item in bold lettering, the Trucker’s Burger of course – this heifer comes with a prize – if you finish off this monument to cardiac disease, the management will give you a semi truck mud flap with a naked lady on it. You know I ordered it, you also must know that I finished every bite of the multiple patties, ham, egg, bacon, cheese, mushroom platter, with a boatload of mash and brown gravy that acted as its pillow. Not only that but I dusted off the other half of Quinn’s burger, some of Matteo’s free kiddie potatoes, a side of mixed vegetables and some apple pie ala mode for desert.
I turned down the prize on account of this being a family ride… but more so because try as I might I could not work out a place to attach it, even on a bike as long as ours.
Coming into Edmonton at the end of a 70 mile day we thought we had everything wrapped up. We were flashing cocky smiles as we rolled past the rush hour gridlock along Andover Henboy Dr – but with less than 8 kilometers to go to reach a friends house – great people we met earlier in the month on Vancouver Island – the skies opened up and dumped – what began as rain, morphed into a pound hailstorm straight out of the old testament – at first we laughed it off but ten minutes into the pounding the boys were done – Enzo was whimpering, and I can take hours of physical abuse at the hands of my bike, but the sound of children in pain cuts me in half. The problem was this, there was absolutely nothing to seek shelter under in or around – just highway and hail. Through the deluge I spot a church steeple in what looked like a subdivision under construction. As we rolled up to what should have been a turn the road did not reach the hwy. The concrete ended twenty yards short. A muddy dip stood between us and the quick sprint on pavement to the church. I got the boys off the bike and told them to run for the church overhang. I held my bike contraption as best I could as I entered the short muddy ravine – it was similar to wrestling a steer to the ground – if I’d ever done that I imagine that’s what it feels like – this was not the hard part – getting hundreds of pounds of bike and gear up a muddy hill in a hailstorm in clip in sandals turned out to be a bit of a challenge. At
one point I was spinning my legs so fast I looked like a cartoon character – finally I used those scandals as a poor man’s cramp on – jamming them into the soft mud as I laughed out loud – I mean what else can one do in that situation? while hollering to no one but the elements “I was considering taking up cyclocross this season but not right now!”
After summiting I realized that I had to let Beth know we were turning off, abandoning ship, what have you – this required me to go down and up the ravine again – easier this time without the bike, wave my hands aircraft carrier guider style, hope she saw me then break into a sprint for the boys, church and relative safety.
Beth somehow found us hiding under the church entrance – the building was still under construction – doors locked. We were freezing at this point – I got people out of wet clothes, into sleeping bags at 4pm, then took Beth’s bike back out on the road behind the church – the hail had stopped but lightening was still in the area – after some false starts I managed to find a Husky gas station, call our friends and execute a rescue – a few hours later we were eating ribs in the warmth of Corine and Kevin’s home, laughing, hearing stories about being given Mother Teresa’s direct phone number and how to survive a day at the world’s largest mall.
More stories about Edmonton (and its hospitality) and the road to Saskatoon but a real bed has my name on it right now – Life on the road is always unpredictable, fleeting and so incredible – I stood looking at my body last night, how it has been transformed in subtle and obvious ways by just 5 weeks of pulling 400 pounds of flesh and metal across Canada – when Beth laughed and rolled her eyes I had to clarify – “Honey this isn’t narcissism, though I perfectly capable of that from time to time – It’s simply this: I’m going to miss this body when it’s gone – and it will be gone – no one can keep up at this pace forever, and you only get to be in peak condition for a short while – but it has and is serving me without complaint or catastrophic failure and for that I am grateful. In a larger sense, I’m going to miss everything, my body, sunrises, my family, these moments together, when it’s all gone someday… but what a kick to have lived it here and now.
I can’t tell you how it ends yet, this particular adventure I mean, or how it all ends for me some day, but I know with certainty how it won’t end… with regrets on a couch at the far end of a television’s dim glow. Stray well.
While most take this day off, we’d just spent the past three days exploring Jasper and surrounding environs – rafting the Athabasca River – yes, even little Matteo was fitted for a life jacket and splash poncho, a booat cruise of Maligne Lake to see Spirit Island and massive glaciers, and Freewheel Cyclery lent us two boys trick bikes so that the young hooligans could test their mettle on the ramps and curves.
Though we were having more fun and local pizza than is fair for any family, we had to leave, though Jasper offers so much more, but we didn’t get away without another bit of campground excitement. A couple of troubadour wanttabe American Idol rejects set up a hillbilly hideout ( I’ll include pictures in the gallery shortly) on Saturday night, then proceeded to sing the worst rendition of Mr. Jones by The Counting Crows over and over, or maybe it was just the same verse over and over , this was before or while setting a bonfire in their park provided grill set up ( we’re talking forty pieces of wood – you could practically see it from space) thus smoking up the entire hiker/biker campground. From there it was music after quiet time and some sort of explosives, either fireworks or a flare gun, no one was quite certain. I’d already sent the ranger over about the bonfire b/c it was a hazard. As we lay in our tent to the sound of a large explosion and laughter, Quinn asked if I was going to go over and open up a can. “Only if they have more.” I woke up around 4am to hear them signing about caribou, then over breakfast we were serenaded by an earful of boisterous swearing. A which point I approached Jackass Island to have a word
“Hey, Hall and Oates… The smoke out was dangerous, the flares or fireworks uncalled for, the Caribou tunes just bizarre, but the language coming out of those traps, well, I’m gonna have to put the brakes on your little potty mouths because I have two sons over there.” (I was only actually addressing one of them – the other guy was sleeping under the remains of their tent. I could only assume that it had fallen down in the night and neither of the boys were able to right her. The dead soldiers of Budweiser might have played a part) At this point the guy I could see, who was either burning the tip of a large stick or whittling it, my mind could not take in the entirety of this disaster – apologized. The tent grunted. The ranger was informed of all on our way out to Jasper, He gave us a free night and wrote up the boys, who turned out to be squatters who said they would gladly pay on Tuesday for a campsite today . You’d think that would be the end of it, but when we returned that evening their stuff was still present, including a large cooler that should have been in the bear locker, and a multicolored quilt hanging up in place of the more traditional confederate, American or Canadian flag. Boys were not accounted for… we went to bed, but not before I snapped a few photos.
Next morning their tent was up so we assumed they had made it “home”. The rutting deer were going crazy around us as we broke camp – it is the start of the season, mostly these were females running around the meadow and darting into the campsites. Then we witness true island justice, three elk ransack the rock star’s camp. Jackass Island included marshmellows left out and sundry other food stuffs,
When Beth saw that the Elk were eating plastic to get to the sweets and she tried to shooo them away, with help from Wolfgang, our German cycling friend one site over. When the rock stars came out of the tent to this mayhem they did what came natural – they began chucking sticks and pinecones – but the elk were not amused. They charged the tent – down she went for the second time in so many days – and scared the beJesus out of two gentlemen woefully ill-equipped to be outside of a karoke bar after dark. Oh, Beth got the ranger and the boys were sent packing.
Tons of other good stories – today we had a very large black bear run through a playground along the road – we’d stopped for ice cream and play at a lodge and the bear was being chased off the property where it had been enjoying a berry bush. It got within ten feet of us as we ducked inside the door of the lobby. Of course as soon as the tourists saw it cross the road they caused a traffic jam and chased it back onto the lodge property – we pedaled away, never knowing the ending of that story but we could see tourists of every stripe and nationality running striaght at the bear with cameras – I asked myself I wonder if they know how to sing Mr. Jones better than their counterparts back in Jasper. I’ll close with a quote from Edgar Rice Baroughs – “Man Is a Dumb Animal” of course I include myself in that category but at least I pedaled in the opposite direction of the bear.
