In 2018 I rode my bicycle across Western Canada, covering about 2300km. It's been two years and I figured I'd release my journal entries here for anyone interested in what a trip like this does to a person's sanity.
Given that they're real-life jou...
Mother Nature has something against me. On my first day, she was determined to literally push me back to Winnipeg. Her game's changed since then, though, to a far more sinister strategy. After 25 winters, she knows well my anathematic perspective of the cold. As a result, so my protagonist syndrome has determined, each subsequent day has been more frigid than the last.
My sleep last night was troubled by the incessant hum of the highway, the monstrous whistling of chugging trains and the violent undulation of my tent, battered mercilessly by a howling gale. I half thought my shelter would fail under these conditions. The other half of my mind was preoccupied with keeping all my toes, wrapping them tightly in a towel and slipping this package into the sleeve used for carrying my sleepingbag.
When I awoke, my tent still stood and my toes all worked, so I packed up and descended my roadside knoll to begin the day, immediately noticing the bite in the air, as mentioned above.
The cold, paired with my decimated legs, made me bitter from the start. I cursed every sign teasing the distance to Virden and was driven even to laugh in utter defeat at a Tim Horton's sign claiming to be "just 10 minutes away." The speed limit here was 110km/h.
At my absolute physical limit, I came upon Virden's greeting sign, thinking, "probably just 2km to go." A kilometre down the road, I spotted another sign stating the town was three more away.
Once I'd walked my bike up the incline that marks entry to the town, my legs in shambles and my ass a wasteland, I decided I needed a rest, so I took a motel room, despite my reluctance to pay so much and to end the day at just 13:00. I suspect a good night's sleep will help repair my legs. And I hope it'll be warmer tomorrow.
"10 minutes away." Fuck my broken ass, Tim!
Google says lots of pictures are taken at this Tim's, but I bet none are yawn shots (I hope that isn't a term for anal porn).
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Motel Melancholy.
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Who watches TV nowadays anyway?
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A real shower with real hot water.
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Serious mirror selfie time.
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Kawaii mirror selfie time.
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A real-life bed. It's beautiful.
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