Taking a (Canadian) stand 05/23/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, flies
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Dear Australian flies,
Thank you for applying to maul my face in perpetuity.
Your proposal was given careful consideration and several experts were consulted in the deliberation process. Regrettably, though, I must inform you that your application has been denied.
As was duly noted in your submission, your right to, “stir shit up,” is guaranteed under Section 3 of the Natural Code. In this case, however, public safety shall take precedence over your freedom to buzz up my nose and eat the sticky stuff in the corner of my eyes.
Reports indicate that several flies were grievously injured when my face was mauled previously. Two were inadvertently swallowed while six others somehow landed in my cup of boiling soup.
The latter incident caused severe psychological trauma to a group of elementary-school mosquitoes who were standing nearby.
It would be irresponsible to allow similar events to occur in the future. Therefore, all flies who persist in mauling my face will be asked to leave the vicinity of my head immediately. Those who refuse risk prosecution and may be detained on the rolled up pages of a magazine.
Thank you for your consideration going forward.
Yours faithfully,
mikeonbike
Flies, flies, everywhere flies
Getting some colour 05/20/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, carnarvon, gascoyne, laundry, shopping, tan
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When I pulled into Carnarvon I was quite enthusiastic about my suntan. I winked at myself in the mirror, picturing all the magazine covers I could grace. Then I had a shower and realized I was just really dirty.
Now I’m back to my sugary-white self and in the midst of a housekeeping day of sorts.
Near Carnarvon, WA
Apparently I haven’t done laundry since Derby, which is 1,600 km up the road. My sleeping bag was fast becoming a biological weapon and my cycling shorts were on the verge of running away on their own. Two-dollar soap and 90 cent clothespins averted that little crisis.
Upon further inspection, my larder was found to be seriously wanting. I had some couscous dust, a quarter cup of oatmeal and a lonely can of pork and beans that I have no intention of eating. Ever.
So off I went to the local Woolworths, a psychedelic experience as always. After staring at outback for a week, the fluorescent lighting and Top 40 music of the mall is enough to blow my mind. I wandered wide-eyed through every aisle, stopping to marvel at 30 per cent beefier hot dogs and blowout deals on pantyhose.
People tend to give me a wide berth at the grocery store. I used to think it was because my rugged masculinity overwhelmed them, but now I’m pretty sure it’s because I talk to myself.
It’s how I keep from going crazy on the road. I tell myself jokes or sing and the burden of the task melts away before me. I just haven’t found the on/off switch yet. So I’m that guy in the soup section, having raving arguments with myself over sodium content and price per liter.
I must be doing something right, though. When I left the store a guy pumped my hand because he’d seen me on the highway the day before.
“You’re bloody mad! I love what you’re doing, mate!”
He stuffed a $50 note in my pocket and was gone. I was left standing there, absolutely gobsmacked with my bag of beefy hot dogs.
A wise man would mark that money as a nest egg. I called it six pints, and as I sat at the bar it occurred to me that one day people might pay me to do exactly what I’m doing right now.
Until then I’ll be the hobo with the greatest tan in town.
Interlude in the Pilbara 05/12/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, camping, dampier, pilbara
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After nine days of cycling I found myself staring at maps more than the world around me. It was time for a break, time for a town wedged between iron ore and the foamy sands of the Indian Ocean.
Nothing much happens in Dampier but there always seems to be something going on. I’m the local vagrant, camping on the beach, sipping coffee in the salty air of paradise.
I sit here barefoot and watch the ships glide past. The tides come and they go, leaving in their wake something that has never come easily to me. Contentment.
This is the first town in Australia that I well and truly adore. Part of me wants to stay, but when I turn over my calloused hands I know I’m not the type.
Lately I can’t help but wonder if this isn’t a trip at all. It has no real purpose and certainly no direction. Maybe this is my life, and maybe, just maybe, it’s all I ever wanted.
Sunset in Dampier, WA
The Theory of Zero 05/05/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, great northern highway
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My nephew is something of a free thinker. After acing all his arithmetic tests he one day decided to answer every question with a zero. His approach saved time, he explained, and logically he was bound to be correct sooner or later.
His teacher may have been unimpressed, but I for one quite like the Theory of Zero.
For four days I’ve been cycling mean country. The highway runs dagger straight past cracked riverbeds and trees that have long since lost hope of rain. They bend to the dusty red soil, parched and splintered, waiting for the mercy of a spark.
I pedal on.
The sun seems to pulsate in a cloudless sky. It scatters every living creature save the wedge-tailed eagles that circle endlessly above. They land only to pick the bones of a kangaroo rotting on the road, shooting piercing glances when I cover my mouth.
I pedal on.
A raging headwind slows my bike to a walking pace. Beside me a wreathed cross peers from the yellow grass of the ditch. A faded teddy bear and some empty beer cans honor someone who should have worn a seat belt nine years ago.
I pedal on.
Then suddenly it all changes. I look up and find myself in an endless pasture. The highway vanishes over the horizon like a bridge in a sea of gold. A butterfly floats past, catching on its wings a sun setting in a thousand shades of orange.
The smell of cool earth fills my lungs and I’m reminded of home, of beautiful Saskatchewan.
And til tomorrow, I pedal no more.
Near Sandfire, WA
That Dempster feeling 05/02/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, derby, gibb river road, repairs
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So I didn’t take the Great Northern Highway. I shrugged at the junction and disappeared down a cattle trail instead.
It took me nine days to ride the Gibb River Road – 670 km of rock, sand and corrugations that rattled every bolt in my bike. I shredded my tires twice and broke five screws in my pannier racks. Even my shoes fell apart. And I loved it.
It reminded me of another road, the first of this long journey. There the only sounds were bugs, birds and the slow crunch of gravel beneath my feet. I lived on creek water and sunshine, slept beneath tender stars. I was never better than in the Territories.
The feeling faded over time, maybe from age or the weary cynicism of travel. I thought it was gone forever, that this was a fool’s errand. I went mad trying to find it again, when all the time I only had to stop. Breathe. Let it tap me on the shoulder.
It has, and I aim to savor it.
The endless state 04/22/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, great northern highway, kununurra, northern territory, victoria highway
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No doubt better minds than my own have found eloquence in the beauty of Western Australia’s Kimberley Region. The perfect words are beyond me. I just wander around gaping, whispering their four-lettered step children.
This place is empty and immaculate. Road signs are flecked with bullet holes, exclamation points on the futility of regulating a place so impossibly vast. Yet there is something to be found, and the more I stare at the sky, at the red grains between my feet, the more it looks like home.
Tomorrow I set off down the Great Northern Highway. For now, let me share the road behind.
Outback 04/15/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, darwin, katherine, northern territory, stuart highway, victoria highway
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Though I enjoyed my time in Darwin, I never shook the idea that my being there was somehow strange. My body seemed to understand what my mind could not, like restless shoulders in a sweater worn backwards.
Leaving Darwin
Now that I’m gone, I think I know why. Darwin is a frontier town – it begins where bush land ends. The people I met there came not to start journeys but to end them. They were settling down, or perhaps just settling.
And like all great ends of the line, the city gives its arrivals exactly what they want – a place to get stupendously drunk.
Tourists come like autumn leaves, cartwheeling between pubs in brilliant colour. After the bell sounds last call, when the lights come up and the brooms come out, you’ll find them with the rest of the season’s casualties, face down in the gutter.
Revelry is no sin, but it wasn’t mine to share. My passion is different. It gives me butterflies and echoes like a first love in every cell worth feeling. Sometimes it stops in my throat, scares me to death, afraid that its vast aching wonders will sweep over me, drowned and delirious.
Wallaby near Hayes Creek
And for some reason I need to ride a bicycle to find it. So I do.
After Darwin I cycled through forests of shocking green, under cockatoos and kookaburras laughing in time.
Further south, the ground gave way to stunted scrub and air so dry you’d swear the grasshoppers would turn to dust.
The road followed rail to the bulging horizon, blasting through red rock and bridging foul rivers. Wallabies sprang through the mornings while dingoes left tracks, too smart to be seen.
On the fourth day I neared Katherine, where I’ll leave the Stuart Highway and turn west onto the Victoria.
The road to Western Australia
Lining the approach were tracts of native grasses fed by the departed monsoons. In a few weeks they will be flattened by wind or fire, but now they stand taller than man, lush and obstinate.
I left my bike to walk beside them, sliding their stalks along my fingertips. The husks opened, allowing their seeds to nestle in the hair of my arm.
I just stood there connected, waiting for the warmth of another scattering wind.
Of oatmeal and itchy feet 04/10/2013
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, darwin, northern territory
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I’ve got a three-week beard and nothing else to do. Tomorrow I wander.
Northern Territory crossroads
Darwin was my home for eighteen months and in some ways I’ll miss it. This was my reprieve after the grind through Asia. It gave me familiar faces, food in the fridge and even a bit of money in my back pocket.
But fond memories are a poor excuse to stay. There’s one road out of Darwin and I need to take it.
I’m desperate to see red earth, to stand in the middle of nowhere and know I’ve arrived. I want to squint and spit with old cattlemen, to hear the floorboards in dusty roadhouses, to sleep beneath the Southern Cross and give thanks for all I don’t understand.
Mostly I need to leave someone behind.
The kid who left the Arctic in 2009 will go no further. He was more ego than experience, begging for joy and misery without being prepared for either. He thrilled for a fight, always ready to test himself against an invisible hand. He could do anything, never knowing that sometimes he shouldn’t.
I’ve outgrown that person, this city. I’ll leave them quietly and without regret, taking with me the small wisdom of knowing what I seek.
And tonight, as the road curves over the horizon like the end of a beautiful question, I smile and wonder if I haven’t found it already.
The sun and the moon and the Earth 11/13/2012
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, darwin, eclipse, northern territory
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This morning there was a partial eclipse as the sun rose over the Darwin Waterfront. I’ve never seen anything like it. Just beautiful.
Sunrise in Darwin
♪ Show me that smile again . . . ♪ 11/12/2012
Posted by mikeonbike in cycling, travel.Tags: australia, darwin, northern territory
2 comments
My last post wasn’t “dark.” It was honest and it took me a year to write it.
I’ve had some hard times. Mountains I wasn’t ready to climb. But I’m not slinging my belt over the rafters. I’m not washing wine bottles with my tears. Relax. To my final breath, to my last monotone syllable, I will always be hopeful.
I hate what was because I can’t have it again. What will be always takes my breath away. Tomorrow is the best day and I’m not sorry for it.
Lately Darwin is amazing. There is no winter. Perfect sunsets fall through my window. I can walk two minutes and catch fish from the bay. Nobody asks how I got here.
I’ll be back on the road soon enough. I only want my mind to be ready when I go, because I know the chance won’t come again.
Please excuse the growing pains.
