July 7 and 8: Things Fall Apart

Tuesday night Mom and I camped at Cavan Lake, a very small rural campsite a few kilometers from the highway. In the morning I went for a run down the gravel road past fields of curious cows, small ponds and wetlands, and many colourful ducks, savouring the smells of the swamps, farms, and grasslands. Even rain smells different on the prairies. The one farmer who passed in his tractor waved back at me. The day was off to a great start.

The lake was too mucky to swim in, so after the post-run stretch I just splashed my face and hair. Mom and I packed up and got back on the road. 

After a few kilometres, we crossed the border from Alberta to Saskatchewan. Through the previous night and this morning, we were traveling through many small, small towns: Taber, the corn capital of Canada; Burnett, the location of the first irrigation spigot in our country; and a tiny hamlet that, from the many signs, seemed to be called Premier Sausages (maybe a good place to find a man?)

We stopped in Swift Current so that I could check email and update the blog. Mom was very patient with the break. Our next stop was Moose Jaw where we toured two sets of tunnels and hidden passages, the first used by a local businessmen to hide indentured Chinese immigrant workers, and the second used by Al Capone and his gang to smuggle booze in the prohibition. Who knew Moose Jaw had such a rich and lurid history? If you are ever there, they are tours worth taking.

Then came the most exciting part of the day for me: seeing Rafael and his wife Sarah in Regina! Raf moved there from North Vancouver in February to take a job with SaskPower. Sarah joined him only four weeks ago. I was so thrilled to see Raf and meet Sarah in the midst of this journey. Our evening together felt much, much too short.

It was late when we all parted, so Mom and I got motel rooms for the night. Feelings of fear and loneliness had been encroaching on me through the afternoon, and I had been poor company for her. In the hotel room, grief and fear overwhelmed me. What the f* had I done? What was I doing out in the middle of nowhere feeling so deeply disconnected? I cried hard for an hour or more. I thought of going back (where?) If I had somewhere to go back to, maybe I would have.

This is the time of letting go of one trapeze and not yet having a hand on the other. Being here makes me appreciate much more deeply the challenges of other people’s lives. I think of friends dealing with trauma, prejudice, life-threatening diseases, death and other painful endings; of the Chinese immigrant workers described on the tour who lived under dangerous, lonely, and oppressive conditions. Life demands such courage. I have so much support and so many privileges, am doing this of my own choice, and still this move sometimes feels difficult. It’s a good exercise in me developing more backbone. “Everything is connected, nothing lasts, and you are not alone.” Somehow that quote from a Tricycle article comforted me in the end.

In terms of sleep, I didn’t get much for my money that night. My sister called in the morning, and we had a good talk. I got an email from my brother. Then I met Rafael for breakfast at the Hotel Saskatchewan. Connecting with them all helped me feel more stable and capable again.

Mom met me at the hotel, and we got ready to leave Regina. A creaking sound had been coming from the trailer or hitch. Before we left Calgary, my step-dad suggested that the hitch might not be strong enough for the load we were towing. Now I had visions of it breaking on the highway, and the trailer being stranded. I wanted to get it checked before we left town.

In order to turn around and head east again, I needed to drive around a few blocks. I turned down one street to find it was a dead-end. Rather than back the trailer up, I decided to pull through the entrance of a multilevel parking lot. As I swung the Jeep around, we heard a load scraping noise from the back. The parking attendant called to us, “I think your bikes just hit the roof.” I stopped the Jeep to check. Yes, it was true. If we didn’t take the bikes down, they would hit the roof again as we exited.

I got up on the trailer’s wheel wells to check the bikes. If I hadn’t had such a thorough cry the night before, I would have started now. The front fork of my Kona was ripped apart and some of the spokes on the front wheel torn out. One of the winch straps my step-dad had loaned me had been torn in two.

A man appeared and started to help us. At first I thought he worked for the parking lot, but eventually realized that he was from the Legion across the street (and from the smell of his breath had been getting an early start on the day). He helped me get the bikes off the top of the trailer. I moved the Jeep onto the street, and then he helped me strap the bikes back on. Throughout, he was calm and encouraging. When he heard where we were travelling, he gave us tips about driving through Ontario. Such an angel. I am repeatedly touched by how kind people are.

The good news: the trailer hitch got a clean bill of health. The creaking sound has diminished.

Back on the road, I plugged in my iPod to find that I had inadvertently erased all the music on it when I last synched it. There was one CD in the car, so I played Marty Robbins to saturation. (Somehow he seems appropriate for the prairies). The rest of the day went well. Later in the afternoon, we crossed the border into Manitoba. Tonight we are camped on the shore of Lake Winnipeg (in photo above) at St. Ambroise Provincial Park. I felt so happy to get off the highway and drive some country roads to get here. The lake is vast, the sunset was beautiful, the bugs are abundant. I hope to get a good night’s sleep.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.