morale, don't fail me now!

I woke up this morning to various sounds of jubilance...that we would be crossing into Canada, that our trip would soon be over...so much, it made me want to vomit...or at least not get too far ahead of myself (well, yes, vomit). If my reaction wasn't omen enough, the jubilance quickly faded into misery as the rain clouds, confusing roads, and dangerous/insane traffic persisted. And in the end, the ride turned out far more miserable, and far more frightening, than any of us anticipated.

By miserable, I mean I actually picked up my bike and hurled it into a ditch...not once, but twice. (Damages from the second hurl have yet to be assessed.)

So let's start from the beginning, eh? Well, in the beginning there was rain. Not a deluge, just a drizzle. Always a perfect way to start the morning on a bad note. Leaving Washington was not too bad, as we all were still relatively rested and excited for the new country to come. There was some traffic heading to the border, and through the morning I remained pretty uptight, as everyone else around me seemed prematurely relaxed, as if the ride was in the bag.

The rain stopped as we hit the border; false hope for the optimists of the group. The crossing was smooth, and there was a great sign on the other side for a nice photo op (apparently British Columbia is "The Best Place on Earth"...haven't sold me yet). So I guess, from the morning, I was feeling a bit better. However, I had not eaten much for breakfast (a bowl of cereal), and was hoping there'd be a cafe within reach. Unfortunately, we left Lynden on a Sunday, when absolutely nothing is open (Dutch tradition, apparently), and entered the farmland of BC.

For the next 15 miles, the rain picked up, the road became progressively more hilly, and my stomach started to grumble. At one point I hit a pothole and almost crashed, surely setting the tone, and my temperament, for the rest of the ride. From thereon, everything was uncertain, everything was unsafe, every muscle in my body was tense, and every word from my mouth was, if not openly hostile, then implicitly so.


At mile 25 we finally reached a Starbucks, where I thought I might be able to shelter myself from the cool rain. Inside, the air was colder than out, and my feathers were ruffled. I still got a hot chocolate and some baked goods, but sat outside, where the air was only slightly less uncomfortable. At this point, my clothes were already drenched, and I still had 30 miles to go. Without the rain, the ride would have been much more manageable

At mile 28, the route became confusing. Routes 99 and 99A seem very much the same on a traffic sign, with only one letter difference. Some opted for 99, and realized it went directly onto a highway, but 99A was the correct route (still a highway, but not divided), with an occasionally wide bike lane and persistent traffic.

At mile 28.5, on an off-ramp to 99A (yes, it was that busy), a car was trying to exit as I was passing, and almost veered directly into me. After giving him an angry look and gesture (nothing obscene), he proceeded to call me an asshole from out his window as he sped past me on the right, off the ramp. I had the right of way, buddy.

And at mile 29, I got a flat. Already completely frustrated, I lost it, picked up my bike and, like I said before, literally hurled it into a ditch. It probably spun a full 360 in the air before crashing to the ground. After a moment to scream a bit (well, a lot), and calm down a bit, I changed the tube and got on my way. It was still raining, and I did not want to have to stop again, for the sake of warmth.

At mile 36, the pseudo-bike lane (of the many we had today...just glorified shoulders) shifted to the opposite side of the street, and I followed it to a narrow 4-lane bridge with an insane amount of traffic. We had about 4 feet elevated on which to ride our bikes (a sidewalk, basically), directly to the right of which were cars careening in the opposite direction, spraying water up into my already soiled face.

At mile 39, the bike lane disappeared, and I was left to my own devices on a busy 4-lane road, yet again. The road led directly into a mess of a highway interchange, where I feared for my life with every car that zoomed past me.

At mile 40, I missed an exit (yes, an EXIT...we were at an interchange) and continued 4 miles on a road (yet another busy one) that I was not supposed to be on. I crossed the city limits of Vancouver (where I should have STAYED...) and decided I probably was not going to find the turn I was looking for, turned around, and went back to look for it. With some help, I managed my way back to that insane interchange, and found a bike route that led me to the road I needed. At this point, I had gone more than 8 miles out of my way.

The rest of the route was pretty straightforward, but the rain and traffic persisted, and I was still frustrated to say the least. By mile 60 (of what was supposed to be only 55), I was ready to be finished, but knew the church was within reach. I had calmed down a lot, and when I saw Joy and Sharon, felt good that the day was almost over. Of course I got a bit ahead of myself....

At mile 63, I noticed I was passing and had just missed the turn into the church. I pulled off into a driveway on the right, hit a lip in the curb, and crashed to the ground, scraping up my ankle, knee, hip and shoulder. The tempers flared again, and I became so fed up with the day that I picked up my bike and hurled it again onto the sidewalk. Like clockwork, I've managed a crash every five weeks, all onto my already screwed-up right shoulder. Joy and Sharon came over to make sure I was okay, and I just screamed at them. I let all my anger from the day (and possibly from the entire trip) go, then stomped across the street to the church, where I greeted church members with restrained hostility, and threw my bike down again before going inside to lick my wounds.

I continued to shiver until the van came with dry clothes and to take us to showers.I don't think I have ever been that angry on this trip. And I don't know what damage my bike sustained from the crash, and the second and third smashes. Will deal with it tomorrow.

Now we're at a really great church, The Tapestry Church, and after having a warm shower, a great meal, and wireless internet, I'm ready to crash...onto my thermarest, that is. Of course it's after 11 now, and everyone just got back from a bar...celebrating prematurely...and making it rather loud. I cannot wait for peace and quiet. After today, I've never been more ready to be rid of this group, and to be rid of the potential horrors of cycling, once and for all. They're good people, some of whom I really respect, but it's been far too much for far too long. I don't fare well in an environment like this.

We have about 25 miles to Stanley Park in Vancouver tomorrow, even though we basically made it to the coast two days ago. The city limits are only a couple miles from here, but we have to make it all the way to the other side as safely as possible, I guess. Whatever. I just want to be done. No jubilance from this guy...not yet.