Heading Home

The road trip is coming to a bittersweet end. I miss Canada, no doubt aboot it. I miss the trees, the people. As we entered Oregon I looked around and it all felt very familiar – just like BC. Which makes me wonder, what is the difference? What does it matter? Why do I look for disparities instead of similarities?

Back in Starbucks again, it has become our mobile office. A different city with different weather but the office stays the same with its wireless internet and dim lighting. Even the furniture is the same, along with the merchandise, the New York Times rack. The arrangement changes as does the clientele. Last night I overheard a gaggle of cops get into a hot gossip session until they got called out to something more important than talking behind their Captain’s back. Tonight I watched a mysophobic man in a poor fitting toupee demonstrate how the barrista touched the rim of his tea mug. At first I found his obsession quite strange but as I watched him open the door with his foot I recognized his fear. I too employ my fair share of germ-avoiding techniques – he’s reached the next level. I felt for him and his endless battle against contamination.

I’ve fought my share of battles, but lately I’ve taken a back seat. Example 1: Veganism. Somewhere along the road I gave in to fast-food hamburgers. At first I protested against Rik’s cravings, pointlessly suggesting that maybe he’d rather have a bean burrito? But he loves cheap beef patties. Hungry and curious I began to take small nips at the forbidden fruit. At first I cringed at the saturated fatness of it - a well rehearsed, disgusted face that accompanies most nutritional atrocities.

Somewhere along the road my protest became silent, so quiet that I didn’t even hear it. I quit preaching. My guilt melted like a slice of processed cheese. I’ve had a total of 2 burgers (that doesn’t include the nibbles I took from Rik and Rob’s burgers). Rob introduced us to Fat Burger and life hasn’t been the same since. Rik moans and salivates whenever we pass one. I have stopped pointing them out for fear that he’ll instinctually pullover.

Two burgers too many – but I’m happy to say that I didn’t order them. My false pride brings me some comfort. I’d have to admit to completely losing my scruples if I actually ordered a Baby Fat with Cheese. I’m looking forward to spending some time with Ryan and Carole, my vegan bro and sis in law. My ethics are slacking – I need backup and inspiration. I don’t believe that eating meat is entirely bad – but I’ve been ignoring the truth behind most of the meat out there: animals are imprisoned; force fed and slaughtered en masse. Ugh. That’s a lot to swallow. That's a lot of suffering that I can’t ignore.

Its raining cats and hogs

It’s raining cats and hogs. Our plan to spend some time in San Fran has literally washed away. After a wet stroll that ended with us eating a lot of za at Pizza Orgasmica, we hopped in the truck and headed north to Sacramento. Somehow we managed to take a circular route back to where we began an hour earlier – but then we were on our way.

We found a Starbucks along the way (an easy task) and settled in for a late night work session. In the morning, I followed my bladder across the parking lot into the mall. All the stores were closed but the mall was alive with sneakered seniors - Mall Walkers. I’ve seen them before but never really understood why they preferred fluorescent lighting and recirculated air over sunshine and fresh air. Now I understand. On a rainy day, a mall is a great place to take a walk.

This particular mall offered two tracks (an upper and lower level) and a plethora of water fountains. At first my walking was very focused, I had come for a reason. After taking care of business I joined the ranks and took a couple of laps. I have to admit, malls are much better when the shops are all closed. The people who strolled along beside me were here to walk – not shop. Consciously taking steps towards improving their health rather than unconsciously consuming, buying, spending.

I walked past headless mannequins dressed in cheaply made clothes. Clothes that will be gobbled up by people who believe that their perfectly good clothes are no longer acceptable. I walked past a set of stairs with detailed instructions on how to use them safely: look ahead; use the railing; no running, walking backwards or baby-stollers, etc. I was amazed at the detail. I wonder how many people fell down these stairs and how many future law-suits this sign will prevent…

Parking Police

I used to think that parking lots were wild places, devoid of law and security. I’ve learned otherwise. In Las Vegas, parking lots are highly patrolled. Mind you, many security guards ride around on bicycles. From an environmental perspective this kicks ass, unfortunately – I doubt their ability to kick ass.

At one time I might have been grateful for this patrolling, but since I started living parking lots I find the stalking extremely annoying. This week I have met 5 parking lot guards:

The first encounter occurred outside of Borders. Rik and I were enjoying a candlelit Burger King Fusion dinner (I made a salad). We made the mistake of putting our cooler and door mat outside the trailer. This is a parking lot faux pas.

The second confrontation occurred at the library. What a shame, it was a sweet spot. It was our second day in this spot and I had become too brazen. I pulled out the 5 foot solar panel, cooler, doormat and our bikes. I was in housekeeping mode, listening to the radio, beating and shaking dusty things outside. I didn’t see him coming but I heard the knock at the door. I recognized him, the shiny head guard. I’ve watched him over the past few weeks patrolling the library: scoping out the study rooms and peered into the planter box (I’m not sure why he did that but I found it fascinating). I think he recognized me too. We both blushed – I was embarrassed to be wearing short, booty shorts and he seemed genuinely regretful for giving me the boot.

I was alone again for the third confrontation. I was chilling in the trailer, resting a climbing injury while Rik was working online at Starbucks. It was an uneventful encounter. I assured the guard that despite the solar panel and cooler, we were definitely not camping in the parking lot. He was satisfied by my promise to roll out in a few hours and he pedaled away.

The expression “3 times lucky” has proven true, the fourth encounter was ugly. I lost my cool and mumbled a few sarcastic remarks. Did she have it coming? Probably not, I mean she was doing her job…or making her boring job more interesting. We told here that we’d leave as soon as we finished out lunch and cleaned up. I guess she didn’t dig our relaxed pace. Whatever the case, she got her knickers in an awful knot and threatened to call “Metro”.  I have no idea who Metro is, but I think she meant we’d get towed away. I laughed (note: do not laugh at people who pretend they have authority) at the thought of being towed away while washing the dishes.  I felt bad afterwards, albeit curious about the karmic consequence for being petulant.

The fifth and final encounter was fun.  I saw the flashing lights, blew out the candles and ducked. Bang-bang-bang. Busted. I stood up from my hiding spot, like a red-handed criminal. I turned off the stove. Mmmm, dinner smelled great. Then came the awkward interrogation.
Who are you?
What do you mean?
Who are you?
That went on for a good while. I was buying time until we determined that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure where I get my ambivalence for the law, but I definitely put up a very polite fight. He was nice and told me that the day-guard was a bit of a stiff and had ticketed us. He didn’t mind if we spent the night in his lot but if we were still there in the morning we’d likely get towed. He asked for my name and I suggested he write it on a piece of paper. He thought his hand would be fine…16 letters and a few hearty chuckles later, Tyrone and I parted ways.

So Here I Am

So here I am, in an unfamiliar position with an all too familiar pain. I’m not one for lying down during the day, my napping intentions rarely result in rest – I cleverly find tasks to occupy myself. But today, I’m somewhat proud to admit that I did a good amount of lying down and reading. Laying still is an enormous challenge, but an injury has arrived and I’m very keen on its departure.

I pulled too hard yesterday, felt a pop under my lower left ribs and abandoned my last climb of the day. When I got to the bottom I knew something was not right, but I tried not to think one very wrong thought: I’ve torn my obliques. My mind raced back two years ago to the day – the start of my convalescence - the jump, the spin, the bad landing the wretched pain that accompanied every breath, laugh and bowel movement. It was the start of an epic snowfall and I was on the mountain playing in the powder. Overcome by giddiness, under the spell of a deepening blanket of fluffy snow, I hucked and came short. I landed in a twist that blasted the air clear from my lungs. When my breath returned I let loose a loud obscenity (wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t under a chair lift filled with school kids).

It’s amazing how the body remembers pain. If you listen carefully you’ll hear which parts need the most attention – the most protection. These are the muscles that call out when you push them to the edge – or in my case – pull too hard. I usually listen very carefully and avoid putting myself in injury’s way. I’m not too proud to say NO to severely crimpy holds when I stand the chance of popping a finger tendon. I even let go of big, juggy holds with sharp edges that cut into my palms. I knew that I was tired but I gave the climb one more last push, I crossed the line and now I’m paying the price.

On the hike out from the Sunny & Steep wall, I used my arms to support and lower myself down in between two boulders; a simple maneuver that requires abdominal stability. When I felt my instability the reality of my injury kicked in, a lump formed in my throat. So much for our renewed vow to climb regularly – I regrettably told Rik that I needed some time off. Unfortunately the hike out was not over. Our bikes and a bumpy trail lay ahead.

The riding was not so bad, so long as I stayed on my seat and avoided using my core. Getting on and off of my bike was difficult and grew increasingly ungraceful. My worst dismount was completely unplanned. Moving too slowly through a patch of big rocks my front tire wedged and my bike dropped to its side. For fear of smacking my pubic bone (an unfortunate move I made on the ride in) I leapt off and pedaled my feet through the air. I landed without further injury but was shaken to my unstable core. I crouched into a ball and sobbed out a few breaths. Rik walked with me, a quiet and sad retreat. It wasn’t just my bum luck, he was without a climbing partner. The tears finally came when I tried to climb into our truck. Memories of my snowboarding injury resurfaced. The kind stranger who offered to drive me back into town. I was so immobile that it took two men to lift me into the passenger seat. I gnawed on my mitts the whole ride down the mountain, choking back tears, trying to be tough.

Healing was an excruciatingly slow process, spent mostly alone, in someone else’s house. The snow fell for what felt like an eternity. As it got deeper, I sank into a morose funk and became recluse. I drew the blinds shut and dreaded the calls from friends who were still high from their floating turns and face shots. I stayed indoors for weeks. I took up pastels; the bright colours lifted my heart from darkness. I didn’t take any pain killers. I wasn’t playing the martyr or trying to prolong my suffering. I didn’t want squelch the signals that told me how fast and far I could go.

My first outing was a trip to the doctor’s office. I moved at a turtle’s pace, an elderly gentleman opened the door for me. I watched with awe and envy as the receptionist bent over to pick a pen up off the floor. She moved so quickly and effortlessly. Right then and there I pledged that I would never take mobility for granted. I’m not sure how long it took, but I eventually forgot my pledge.

Fast forward two years. I guess it was high time to remember. Rik reminded me of the Buddhist proverb: good luck, bad luck, who knows? It’s awfully dark when you find yourself at the bottom of a well but you know that the light is right overhead. I entertained the notion that this was a blessing in disguise. I hardly believed it but just trying look on the brightside made me smile.

My eyes are burning

My eyes are burning.
Better judgment would have me walk outta here and chill in the trailer. But no – I will endure this suffering. Life is suffering and so it is, it is so...
I reunited with my buddha-nature last night in the Las Vegas library. My timing was perfect.
We came to the Sahara West library to get online but on the way in I noticed that a venerable Buddhist monk was about to hold a lecture.
Rik went to work and I went to learn the Zen way to deal with stress and anxiety.
I stuck a nametag on and took a seat next to an elderly Asian man.
I wish I had gone to the bathroom before the lecture. I drank a lot of tea after dinner.
Luckily we were equipped with an outline of the lecture, I didn't miss much.
Can't say that much for the tattooed couple across the room. I turned around and saw them passed out in their plastic chairs. It was very bizarre, the way they were pitched forward and balancing on eachother. Perhaps they were in need of guidance and instead found a place to rest.
Ah...rest.
To bed I go.