Deep Diving
I'm in St. John's at the Memorial University summer accommodations as I write and eat my sorry supper of cold canned ravioli, a bag of white cheddar flavoured popcorn and, most needful tonight, a half bottle of Crown Royal. I drink it straight out of the bottle. There's a duck pond out the window.
I'm not stupid, I swear I'm not. My derailleur is jammed, the wheel turns neither forward nor back. I yank on it a while and I get the wheel turning. But test rides in the parking lot confirm it's not working right. When you’re over 300 kilometres from the nearest bike shop and going to even more isolated places that’s a concern.
I’m up at 5.30 am for a 6.30 pickup by shared taxi. It’s a big minivan, with room for 11 people and lots of luggage. It’s a door to door service. I'm the third person picked up. Next is a handsome African guy coming off a ship; he's young and strong and a pleasant fragrance of soap and cologne follows him in. The rest are Newfoundlanders. Almost all are old, way too heavy, and tired looking. Most of them need help getting into the van. One woman gets on at a small road that disappears off into the distance, her community of maybe 200 deeper yet into this emptiness. She stinks of cigarettes and speaks with a voice like cracked gravel. When she speaks I understand barely a word, both for the voice and the accent. In St. John's she gets off at the hospital.
The taxi ride today covers the same ground I passed through by bicycle a few days ago. I wonder how my experience will be different from today's vantage point. I notice as we speed along that my first thought is that I feel no fear. I'm surprised; I didn't think I had felt fear on the bike. But I notice that now I'm not concerned by the rain clouds, I'm not interested if the water in the many small lakes is drinkable, I don't care that a huge hill looms ahead. It's all smoothed over, the wildness I felt on the bike is gone. My connection to nature, too, is lost. Now I'm just a passive observer, safe, but with no skin in the game. I lose interest. Nobody else seems much engaged either; the radio that plays throughout the ride loses reception and turns into garbled noise. Nobody notices.
In St. John's, I get dropped off at a bike shop. I won’t give the name but it’s yellow and sings. I tell them my situation but no one there really cares. You want a derailleur, OK, $35. But we won't put it on for you, we're busy. You need to book an appointment online, next free time is in a week or two. You can put it on yourself outside on the sidewalk, there is a set of tools there. I'm horrified; I wouldn't have a clue where to begin. Lucky for me, though, tonight is the one night a week a volunteer group has a do-it-yourself bike clinic. I have no other option, I'll go tonight. I get on my bike to go to my accommodations and before I know it, I'm there. The bike seems to be working fine. What's going on?!!
I check into my room and go look for food. It's nasty out, I'm cold, tired, hungry, stressed, and worried about tonight. I'm confused and feeling incredibly stupid. It's a long walk to a restaurant along a busy road; after a half hour, I find I'm going the wrong way…
At the clinic that evening the kid that's going to help me tells me the derailleur looks OK. Really?! But I can't risk it, I'm going to be going on a road where it's 200 km between villages. I can't take a chance, I'll put on the new derailleur and, with the kid's help, I do. It wasn't pretty and I'm covered in grease but I get it done. But I can't adjust the gears and the kid does it for me. I give it a test and every gear jumps and grinds. The kid then takes it for a spin and tells me they're perfect! He asks me if I know how to shift gears! Oh, I'm SO tired of this. I take the bike, buy groceries and the Crown Royal and go home. Somehow the bike gets me there.
Who can explain life? I learn one of my neighbours has just died, one of my friends writes to me that his son's wife of 3 years has taken their two kids and left, and me, my gears aren't working as smoothly as I would like.
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 6 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 2 |
1 year ago
1 year ago