Dear all,

Happy news and sad news. After almost 5 months of travelling for travelling’s sake, I finally arrived at the rainy west coast. A ferry brought me from Vancouver to Nanaimo, then upon my arrival on the island, a semi-truck hit my left arm while I was climbing a hill on a part of the highway that had no designed shoulder. No serious injury, just a few cuts and bruises and a big bump on my palm which prevent me from using the brake properly—here the use of the word ‘just’ is a deliberate choice. This is not the first injury that has been inflicted upon me due to biking, and is unlikely to be the last one.

Cyclists and pedestrians seem to be well respected by the islanders. The two ladies who descended from their vehicles to inquire about the severity of my injury were more enraged than I that the truck driver, unconscious of the collision, did not stop: one kept saying ‘I can’t believe this! No one stops for you! When I saw you you were lying on the ground (this is not true)!’; another witness insisted on reporting this tiny accident to RCMP and described every minute detail of the incident (she knew more than I did).

Many may wonder at why I remain cheerful still when it was two ambulance paramedics who first welcomed me to Vancouver Island, or why I did not demand for an apology on the part of the truck driver. At the time I decided to advocate green transportation by riding my bicycle and using public transit, I knew my decision was made at the hazard of incurring potential danger or substantial loss: that bus/train may be broken at anytime, that before a perfect solution can be devised for bicycles and cars to share roads that have paved shoulder, cyclists will always be more vulnerable to physical injury than car drivers. Having such (fatalist sounding, I admit) acknowledgment in mind, I can easily accepted the consequence that I have to miss the opportunity to venture into an ancient rain forest under the shadow of giant Douglas fir trees, since I cannot ride very fast or go for very long distance at present moment, and happily head towards my final destination—Victoria.

Many have inquired about how I managed to ride through Northern Ontario and the Prairies, I should herewith give a short account of my passage through what some people consider the most monotone part of the country.

— Honestly, I do not think this stretch of the highway is in any way worse or more desolate than some part of Newfoundland or Eastern Nova Scotia. Towns are scattered at about 100-150 km away from each other, though communities may be too insignificant to be noticeable. In English River, ON, for instance, there are only two permanent residents during the wintertime; I was lucky enough to be welcomed by a group of American fishermen who spent the last week of their summer in Canada. The last part of Ontario, between Thunder Bay and Kenora, proves to be no easier ride than my earlier passage through some of the biggest hills in Ontario, for I did not expect it to be as hilly and windy as it turned out to be—I was stupid enough to bike 150km/day for 3 consecutive days—therefore, unprepared to the mental challenge, I felt more frustrated after Thunder Bay. There someone told me about a song describing Northern Ontario as having only rocks and tress and water; to this list I think should be added mosquitoes—I have suffered enough from the frenetic attack of dozens of black flies that would creep over me if my speed was lower than 20km/h that I begin to question what immunological difference there exists between me and those who don’t feel a particle of itchiness after a bite.

Farmers are among my favourite group of human beings, for the simplicity and the friendliness they exhibit in their everyday action. One day in Manitoba I got two flat tires within an hour which forced me to stop by farms and there is always someone who, while I was trying to fix the problem, came out of the building asking if I should need any help. They let me use their washrooms, invited me to stay indoor for the many chilly nights and some even invited me to come back next summer. I have sometimes thought, if the Prairies landscape, which many describe as boring and ‘so flat that you can see your dog running for 3 days’, is not under-rated, then some highly touristic places may be over-rated. The sky is absolutely spectacular: only in the windswept Prairies could I behold the endless sky (sometimes I felt I was biking into the sun.). At times I should need entertainment to accompany my solo riding, I would recite a poem or sing a song aloud or practise the harmonica a cyclist gave me in Thunder Bay (good breathing exercise). I feel sorry for not being able to visit the rest of Saskatchewan due to bad weather.

— The general remark people make of biking as opposed to driving a car is ‘You see more of the country than us’. At first perplexed as to what this assertion mean, I have came to an agreement with another cyclist on that we do not see, but experience. It is not the amount of things seen, the total distance travelled, or the number of countries visited that matters to us, but the depth of all that we have experienced. I could visit more places without depth or stay in one tiny spot of the earth and perceive a great deal of details. Along the long stretch of the highway in Northern Ontario I saw countless plastic bottles filled with yellowish liquid—everyone can guess what it is—which irritated me, an environmentalist I consider myself, to the extend that I eventually stopped and photographed them. If I had been sitting in a vehicle, I would not notice how much along the Fraser Canyon, BC, crosses there were on the side of the road commemorating car accident victims. During my stay in Winnipeg, my host inquired if I had seen much of the city, I admitted of only seeing with depth the Franco-Manitoban writer Gabrielle Roy’s birthplace, where I spent the entire afternoon reading her letters and diaries and the many lovely messages other pilgrims left (in late October, the group of people maintaining the house flew to Montreal for a conference on Gabrielle Roy while I was in BC, they mistook my sister who attended the conference as I). This is the most enriching pilgrimage I have paid so far; my knowledge of Anne of Green Gables is too scant to enable me feeling the slightest affinity with the exhibited objects in the author’s childhood dwelling.

— I must be blessed after experiencing terrible snowstorm in Saskatchewan, for the weather eventually improved during my stay in Alberta and the Rockies. In Calgary I waited 4 days for the lingering snow to melt away before parting for Banff and thence rode through the Icefields Parkways to Jasper, ignoring the popular fact that the weather in Columbia Icefields is unpredictable all year round and the ever growing possibility of getting caught in snowstorms. Two groups of travellers helped me to transport my camping gears to the next stop to palliate the pain from which I might otherwise suffer if I was to climb the many huge hills with heavy weight on my trailer. The parkway was maintained in good condition, the ride interrupted by flurries only at the summit of Bow Pass (2067m in elevation), and of course, the view absolutely breathtaking. (I had to reached Clearwater, BC, where I was forced to delay my journey due to the snowfall, to experience real winter condition.)

The scene reminds me of a drawing of a mountain peak I made years ago, based on a quote from Thus Spoke Zarathustra:

But you, O Zarathustra, wanted to see the ground and background of all things; hence you must climb over yourself—upward, up until even your stars are under you!

At the sight of a gigantic mountain peak covered by snow in front of me as I climbed higher and higher in elevation, somehow a feeling of unreality crept over me: it was as if I had entered into my drawing. Perhaps those who have experienced the momentary shock a natural wonder can induce in their mind will understand my feeling better. I stood in stunned silence, enthralled by the tremendous immensity of the icefields, until cold air finally urged me to keep on moving.

At the summit of Bow Pass I did not want to have picture of me taken, despite the many insistences on the part of other visitors who are more exited about my journey than I. For them, and for the majority people I have encountered, it is unthinkable that one who has striven to reach the summit does not crave to linger longer to savour the thrilling rapture resulted from conquering the super peak of a mountain pass, that I have no strong desire to stand on the top of the peak looking down the valley and all that below me lies. They cannot understand why I am not proud of my endeavour and I cannot understand why they should think me brave (I suppose our minds are wired in different manners that we cannot understand each others). Is it really out of the ordinary that I cannot drive a particle of delight in thinking of myself as having accomplished something of superhuman strength when I know many before me have accomplishment the same—if not actually more marvellous—feat and many after me shall come? If I had been of proud and dignified nature I would have to fly over the rainbow only to learn the disenchanted conviction that no man has ever been endowed with the strength which moved earth and heaven.

Well, I will see if I become proud of myself once my journey, longer than I expected, comes to an end in Victoria.

Linda

Dear J,

At present moment I am in Duncan, Vancouver Island; shall head towards south shortly. For want of sufficient time, let me give a quick answer to your question—How do I know someone in Kamloops?

Before my departure, someone suggested me to sign up for a website that connects touring cyclists around the globe, called WarmShowers (a similar site for all travellers is CouchSurffing). Members of WS provide hospitality for other travelling members and receive hospitality when it is their turn to travel. I have to find my way in rural areas but in big centres I can always find a place to stay.

Usually members are themselves cyclists, and very often have experienced amazing hospitality during their travel that they want to do unto others what has been done unto them. (There are, of course, some who sign up simply to enjoy traveller’s companion: the couple I met in Kamloops love accommodating travellers so much that they are on WarmShowers, CouchSurffing, and WWOOF—World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms.) I definitely think the best decision I have made for my journey is to join WS. I would not have enjoyed my journey as much if others cyclists had not shared with me their own stories and given me many insightful suggestions; plus I learn to trust and appreciate to be trusted. The story of the young couple with whom I stayed in Vancouver, for instance, is beyond common expectation: they met each other outside of Hope, BC, 5 years ago when they were on their own separate way biking across Canada, then liking one another well, they decided to get married one year ago and their honeymoon was a bike ride from Vancouver to the end of South America.

Through WarmShowers I find a fellow in Victoria who can help me packing my bike and trailer; a ride to the airport may be possible for he chances to work 5 minutes outside of the airport. I would love to meet your parents if they do not object my visit (I want to know what kind of people can be called ‘loving’); my flight is scheduled on the 17th of Nov, there should be enough of time for me to contact them, unless I am caught in bad weather or car accident (as I had experienced both in the past few days).

Special thanks to you and your family: your family dynamics is among my favourites. The naturalness of your behaviour, the children’s lack of affectation and pretence, made me feel so much at home that I felt being a part of you during my stay. I have experienced several times this feeling of belonging to my host family in my travel previously—in Nova Scotia, Sherbrooke (QC), Thunder Bay (ON)—and lament at the mournful fact that I have no might to overturn the bare necessity of leaving.

Thinking carefully, the word ‘pilgrimage’ may be too difficult for a 5-year old child to comprehend—most adults cannot seize its meaning when I remark to them that my journey should be more properly called a pilgrimage rather than a bike trip or adventure. I have always thought, the single valid justification of our deed is passion: to pursue the proper goal toward which all human endeavour is directed, one needs no more and no less than passion. By passion I certainly do not mean that unruled passion which can bring the most terrible evil in the world; by passion alone, and passion pure and solemn, I mean that pure authentic inner impulse towards a particular course of action. It may be said that my passion for learning, knowing, seeking exceeds my passion for biking, touring, travelling (which I do enjoy, if only to a smaller degree of enjoyment). That is why I prefer to designate my journey as a pilgrimage or a quest of something beyond the attainable.

Maybe one of your children will one day hear the calling to part for a long journey in search of some exalted purpose.

Linda

Dear C & BD & JM,

Thank you for offering me warm shower, hot meal, and a safe shelter from the cold and early October snow when I need a rest from travel; for letting a philosophical mind intrude into your lovely house for several nights with all her childlike, and at times tiresome, questions about human nature; for sharing thoughts, living experience and travelling excitement with a formerly isolated person, so accustomed to confine herself in a metaphysical cloister where she used to sit in silent contemplation of the nature of (mathematical) reality; and for encouraging with your words of wisdom a coward fearing life and social encounter to embark on her own quest of value to her existence in her unusual way.

Strange it is that after years of ‘monastic retreat’ in my mathematical convent, I should become a wanderer in the world without expected stopping. Never have I thought one day I would be involved in the messy complications of the outside world, let alone enjoying myself in the ‘snug foothills of warm humanity’—never have I enjoyed myself so much, to tell you the truth. Now that after ten thousand perils to the West, I have come to touch the happy Isle and see the great Achilles whom we know, a poem I often recited during my solo riding springs to my mind:

‘T is not too late to seek a newer world…

            One equal temper of heroic hearts,

            Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

            To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’

‘Ulysses’ by Alfred Tennyson

I know not what impact I have left on your mind, nor shall I attempt at predicting the unpredictable, but I like to let you know that I fully treasure the opportunity that is bestowed upon me to make your acquaintance and to hear your and others’ stories. In the midst of this repose and the many challenges to face so runs my dream, but what I am? A pilgrim to the rawness of Canadian nature, a godless mathematician who trusts that good shall fall, and a part of all that I have met.

May you also find that for which you seek at the end of your journey.

Linda

p.s. What I was crying for is that my miserable upbringing has enjoined me from savouring the touch of warm humanity for so long.

Dear all,

Sorry it takes so long to notice you that I finally conquered the long stretch of countless hills in Northern Ontario and entered the wide-open expanses of Prairies where a naturally grown tree is said to be as rare a treasure as water in the desert. My progress varies day by day depending on the weather condition: in the absence of strong wind, I can keep an average speed of 25-30 km/h, whereas in the presence of head wind, I would be content with 15 km/h—but 10 km/h is not unusual.

The weather has not been very cooperative for me after I quitted Winnipeg on 28 September: notorious Prairies wind gusting at times in excess of 70km/h, pouring rain, scattered flurries, snowstorm in early October… My situation was quite miserable sometime that eventually I had to accept two rides: the first brought me to Moose Jaw, SK, the second to Medicine Hat, AB.

Friday 8 October was perhaps my most miserable day: heading towards Swift Current in cold weather (minus 13 with wind chill), I could barely ride 10 km in 90 minutes, then perhaps due a considerable loss of body heat, I began to fall asleep on my bike, had difficulty to keep balance with my frozen hands and feet. The nice fellow who gave me a ride to Medicine Hat was ready to bring me all the way to Calgary if need be, but stubborn as I am, I decided to stop by Medicine Hat for I do not want to miss the chance to visit at least one small town in Alberta.

At first I was quite disappointed about myself, only after hearing about a number of car accidents and rollovers because of icy slippy roads, had I began to consider myself lucky to be able to sit in all comfort here, writing emails, monitoring the unsettled weather of the wild rose country.

The weather is supposed to improve later next week, I may even have tail wind for a few days. Once I know there is no more danger to bike on the highway, I will part for Calgary. I plan on staying in Calgary for at least two nights to make necessary purchases at MEC—windproof gloves/mittens and perhaps winter boots to conquer glacial conditions.

More update to come.

Linda

p.s. I was told in Regina that a Swedish female cyclist was about
leaving the city and heading west on #1 highway as well: I was hoping to
meet up with her somewhere but the bad weather makes it impossible to
keep track of our itinerary.

Dear all,

I am about to leave Thunder Bay.

— I might have approached the limit of my physical strength so that I feel more easily tired after I cycled through the most difficult part of this cross-country journey: Northern Ontario, between Marathon and Nipigon. (They used to say Nipigon is the midpoint of Trans-Canada highway.)

— In Sault Ste Marie I purchased my 3rd journal. As I advance in my journey I find it more and more difficult to keep track of every happenings, in part because the sun sinks earlier, in part because I am perhaps too fortunate to meet many people who gave me an abundance of new insights and my mind is not in a splendid condition to sort my earlier confusing and at times disturbing thoughts out.

— I met a fisheries biologist, an ex-soldier, two church ministers, a lady who was born in Nunavut, a couple whose children (in their 30s) still visit them everyday, a man who has cycled across the world with poor vision. (There was a retired teacher who suggested that I should take on the boat once I reach the west coast and keep biking around the world, but this idea, however attractive it is, is too fanciful in that I don’t have passport and must come back to complete my undergraduate studies.)

— The question typical of Newfoundland—Where is your HOME?—was addressed to me once again. I attempted at describing to the lady who was born in Nunavut how special it is for me that one evening in Cape Breton, an old couple approached me and later said: ‘come home with us’ rather than ‘come to our place’. The lady admitted fully that this way of treating visitors as family members is very common in Newfoundland, Northern Quebec (somewhere close to Laborador), and some parts of Nova Scotia.

For a traveller who just arrives at a place unknown to her, being accepted (as a part of the family) and being welcome (as a honoured guest) are two distinct feelings though the distinction is perhaps too subtle for local people to notice it. Every often I would encounter some people who claim it is in virtue of a mysterious motherly/fatherly instinct that they don’t want to see me sleeping outside in the coldness. It triggers an odd emotional response in me in that I who never feel to have a mother nor father suddenly am being cared by so many mothers and fathers. People are spoiling me. Ha!

— I begin to believe that the small amount of people who like to address such metaphysical questions as ‘what is goodness?’ ‘what does religious truth mean in the Christian sense?’ is due to the difficulty of giving a full account of the subject under examination. The Anglican minister whom I had troubled might have suffered enough from the intellectual puzzles that she later asked if there was any question on my list that was easier to answer. And guess what, she was so happy when I asked: ‘May I have a cup of coffee?’

— I met a lady who takes particular interest in examining her family history as her father was adopted. She had spent a considerable amount of time in searching where her biological grand-mother was buried and shed tears when she found a remaining relative in England. Her endeavour seems to me incomprehensible for I used to think the biological bond we share with a group of people reveals no more than some behaviour patterns that may be attributed to genetic factors.

— The question ‘Do you not feel lonely?’ is perhaps the most frequently asked one along with where I am from and to where I am going. It is strange that a huge amount of people should think I should get bored while on a bike I have passed many delightful moments of meditation. In Newfoundland I used to think about personal merit and deservedness; in the Maritimes the notion of family and home; in Quebec personal values; in Ontario sin, guilt, forgiveness. When I am too exhausted to think, I observe the sky and the passing cloud. I never get tired of looking at the sky.

— I met the 2 young ambitious boys cycling from Toronto, one 22 another 19 years old (the 3rd gave up at Sault Ste Marie), who are supposed to be ahead of me now. I shouldn’t really criticise their swimming in the lake and being super slow in progress, because I did the same after leaving Sault: jumping into Lake Superior—the water was very cold—to see the sedimentary rock underneath, collecting agates on the beach, and sitting on the tranquil remote place, writing diaries. It was a whole new world of wonder and astonishing beauty under water, hardly seen from the land. The atmosphere of the day was so calm that I almost felt a kind of divine peace in the present moment.

— The boys ask everyone they have encountered to pronounce ‘NO REGRET’ in front of their camera. I have always found it puzzling that many a man should wish to feel no regret nor remorse for their little existence round in a dream… wouldn’t it be too perfect to be true if life and regret didn’t go hand in hand in this world of swift changes? I before the age of 19 have experienced perhaps what shall remain till the rest of my life my greatest regret… In their presence, their youthful vigour let me feel old though we are almost of the same age.

— There is a fair amount of francophones in Northern Ontario. In White River a man from the north of Quebec congratulated me on speaking ‘better’ French than he did. Luckily he didn’t feel intimidated by my standard French, which I learned in high school. I have always found it absurd that one particular form of a given language, linguistically neutral, should be regarded socially more prestigious than another. At some point of my life I felt the need to keep silence for fear of raising the false impression that I came from an educated background.

Heading towards the next big stop: Winnipeg.

Linda

Dear all,

Due to the increased amount of people who inquire my whereabouts and the practical impossibility of composing emails as I travel, I must ask your forgiveness for writing to you in a more impersonal way.

1) I decided to take a rest day in Sault Ste Marie to get everything ready before parting for Thunder Bay. It is said to be very hilly and desolate, possibly no restroom along the way. I received many helpful suggestions from other cyclists and experienced adventurers on how to keep myself warm in cold weather, how to cope with dehydration, how to maintain my energy level high, etc. If I can cycle through Northern Ontario, I should be set for the Rockies.

2) I am still not certain as to when I will reach the Rockies; I didn’t expect to be so lost and trapped by terrible traffic in Southern Ontario. By the end of September or the beginning of October I may hit some snow in the mountain. If the weather permits, I should like to visit both Banff and Jasper. I will make the decision in Calgary.

3) If I am lucky, I may meet some other cyclists along my way. I know there is one fellow from Quebec and a group of 3 cyclists (two from Toronto, one from Lithuania) heading towards Vancouver Island as I do. The former is ahead of me, the latter may still linger somewhere in the area. I was told by a cyclist couple from Texas that they are over-charged, poorly organised therefore super slow in their progress (they plan on reaching Vancouver in November!). I haven’t seen them anywhere yet, but our path may cross at some point. After cycling over so long a stretch of time, I begin to wonder how different it would be to cycle with companion, though solitary in nature I remain.

4) Yesterday I went to see the international bridge linking Canada and US. It somehow frightens me to realise that across the bridge is another country.

5) One dramatic change in my thinking is about religion: believe or not, I start visiting churches and participate their Sunday services if I can. Although I am quite certain I will not convert myself into Christianity, I become increasingly interested in learning about their values after my encounters with good Christians—what beliefs make them behave in an altruistic way to me, a mere stranger to their area? In the past I had a very harsh view on Christianity due to the many evils brought by the practitioners of religion, yet my discussions with several true Christians make me aware of how closely their ethical values correspond to mine (I am against Confucianism). I have been to Presbyterian and United churches, will be looking for good Anglican and Catholic churches in the following weeks. My short visit will not be very efficient in helping me to learn Christian faith from different perspectives but hopefully it can give me a general survey.

6) Too many people have told me how lovely Northern Ontario and BC are that I feel compelled to tell you, to this day Nova Scotia is my favourite province. I have never felt so safe and so much at home in my life before my transient passage through the province.

7) I am still trying to find my place in this world.

Linda