A broken down shed full of 30 years of debris, old fences from a fair I worked on before I was 21, windows saved from a Doukabour house demolition in the 1970s, a kiln and pottery supplies from the same era, old bikes, tools (of all sorts) some of them old as me, lumber, enough wiring to light a plantation, doors, drawers full of forgotten drawings maulled to shreds by pack rats, old stereos with built in 8-tracks, rabbit cages, fence, phlorescant lights, ballasts, anchors, years and years of stuff piled to the rafters, now cleared out, loaded on a truck for the dump, burnt, or salvaged and put away, neatly.
Piles of wood, posts, beams from demolished highway bridges, hose, broken branches, trunks and tree roots, stone, deadfall from many years of wind and weather, pulled together in large piles and burnt, for days, under the moody spring sky.
Now, eight days later, my friend’s plot of land on the east shore of Kootenay Lake once again looks like the homestead, full of flower gardens and a towering shanty of a wooden castle, it is meant to be.
It’s been a helluva week. I’ve worked hard, gotten dirtier than I’ve been in several years, and burned away all my winter fat. My upper body feels like a baseball player on steroids, I’m ready to bat!
So today I found my way to the showers, shaved, rediscovered my pale pink skin, scraped my face with some sharp metal, put on some clean clothes, and packed up the bike. It’s a little heavy but it rolls well without tipping over. I’m ready.
Tomorrow, if the weather holds up, I’ll hit the road in a westerly flow. Should make somewhere north of New Denver by tomorrow night. From there I’ll head to Nakusp, then turn west along the Arrow Lakes towards Farquier and up over the Monashee Pass. If all goes well I’ll be in the North Okanagan by the weekend.
In two weeks today, Tuesday, I’ll be boarding a plane, that scares the crap out of me. Semi trucks on narrow mountain roads do the same, but not like airplanes. I’ve only been on, let me see, six airplanes and three helicopters in my life, and every time I asked for a barf bag.
So folks, by time most of you read this, the journey will have begun.
I’m excited, I’m scared, no, I’m freaked right out but the ticket’s bought and, barring an act of God, I’m not going to get my money back, so I’m off.
Those of you who have travelled with me before know two weeks can be a long haul and lots can happen. There will probably be a few instalments before I even get to the airport, but that’s where the real story is, in the getting there.
I’m planning a few things, and hope, before I go far, to add a blog to these travelogs, so you can read my day by day journal accounts, as well as the letters.
So, if your tv is boring you stiff, or you have a little time for wandering adventurers, and haven’t already signed on, get on board, my three wheels roll at dawn.
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