The purpose of this all?

Just like you can do a root cause analysis, potentially finding the variable(s) that, if altered, might result in a different outcome; just like every effect has multiple different causes, depending upon how deeply you want to delve; so has this adventure, many purposes!

The first for me and most critical purpose has already been served. Planning for this trip provided me with great anticipatory pleasure.

When, in the course of my work, I sought and failed to find any deeper purpose to what I was doing, I could think that I would be stepping away from this all and would have time, then, to consider what my profession meant to me and to those whom I attempted to serve. A solo trip gives that space.

I was certainly not doing this trip to prove anything. And I was quite open with my family and close friends from the start: that I may, at any time, decide that this is not what I want to do but this is stupid idea of mine, not rooted in reality, and I might just turn around and go home. 

I could even sell the motorcycle and fly home. I could give it away. This motorcycle itself has served its purpose for me in getting me out of my stasis. 

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The above note was drafted on the morning just before my crash. I was feeling gratitude at the experience so far, and looking at the longer term forecast of smoke in northern Alberta, thinking that I might be unable to continue. I was ok with that. As I sat and wrote that note, I was in Saskatchewan, which was a first for me, I was enjoying the birds singing in the beautiful morning sunshine, and I was striking my camp. I had shaken the fresh dew off the tent fly and had draped it over the bike to further dry off.

I made myself coffee and cooked what would turn out to be the only meal I prepared while camping on this trip: instant oatmeal with dried fruit.

A friendly fellow camper asked if I’d like a (second) cup of coffee and we chatted for a bit. Her name was Leona and she and her husband were spending the summer at the campground, having sold their house in town. They were contemplating their next move post retirement. He was working at the nearby potash mine for one final summer. She was interested in my journey and thought I really should speak with her husband and give him some ideas.

That morning, I was communicating via text with my daughter, who was in Thailand, having her own adventure after graduating from university. She and her boyfriend were looking towards their future and enjoying the opportunities that the present can grant. They had done some beautiful scuba dives that day, and were preparing for their return home after a month away.

I had connected with my son the evening before, talking about books that he thought I might like to read. (One from Paulo Bacigalupi.) 

And that morning my wife and I had connected as well, and it sounded like she had a full agenda while I was off exploring. My plan was to make it to Western Saskatchewan, possibly Battleford or beyond, on Friday afternoon.

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My first thought, as I found myself lying in the dust next to the motorcycle on the gravel road north of Esterhazy was: “I’m not buying another fucking vest”.

The motorcycle was roaring loudly in my ears is it lay in the gravel next to me. I turned it off and it was suddenly very quiet, just the ticking of the cooling metal. The sun was bright, slightly obscured by the billowing dust I had stirred up. I felt warm and comfortable for the moment, and the safe cocoon of the airbag vest felt like an embrace. I could smell the sharp tang of exhaust and hot oil, again combined with the dust of the road. I did not feel afraid. Even as I went down at speed, I was not afraid of dying.

I did realize that at this point that although I’m not 100% sure, I’m probably still alive (happily so) and perhaps the world is trying to tell me something. My outward journey was over and it was now up to me to see how I could get back home again. I stood up and laughed with relief to observe no major injuries. Hoping the same could be said for my trusty steed. 

How had this happened? How had I found myself on a lonely highway in Saskatchewan tumbling in the dust? What was the root cause of this event? I had consulted my map just before leaving Esterhazy to see the best way to Yellowhead highway: was there a direct route? Yes, and trusty Google maps indicated Highway 837 would lead straight north to Highway 16, the Yellowhead Highway, where with a left turn, I would be on my way to Yorkton, Saskatchewan, heading towards Saskatoon and beyond! So I finished packing up and attaching all my gear to the motorcycle and headed off.

Oh, I thought as I turned onto highway 837, this “highway“ looked more like a gravel road! Well, I guess that’s what it’s like in Saskatchewan. The road didn’t look too bad, and I started off cautiously enough at first, but found it to be well packed with just a little roll of gravel between the tire tracks, with very little traffic, and I was cruising along at about 80 km an hour “minding my own business”. The few oncoming pickup trucks induced me to slow down and I had no trouble crossing the looser gravel to the next smooth hard packed part. I could expect about 30 Km of this. All was good.

Suddenly and without warning, I was in trouble.  I was no longer on hard packed gravel but was in 3 inches deep pebbles: freshly graded gravel. I was going way too fast for these conditions. And had the wrong tires on the bike to tackle gravel at all. 

The gravel grabbed my front tire. With the front viciously slewing left and right and the weight of all my gear at the rear of the bike swinging me around I had no way of stopping the inevitable. “This is going to hurt,” I thought. 

Afterwards, Harvey, the grader operator said he saw me go down in a big cloud of dust and hoped that I was OK. 

“Thanks,” I said I didn’t ask him why there was no sign indicating that he was doing fresh grading on the road. What would have been the point of the question? I’m responsible for my own driving, after all. He helped me pick up the motorbike. In fact he picked up the motorbike on his own. With one arm. He was a big Saskatchewan farmer. He asked why I hadn’t taken the next highway to the west to reach my destination? Well, the map said this was a highway as well, I didn’t answer.

We looked the bike over but could see no major damage, but alignment issues from this impact might only show themselves with driving. So I set off cautiously, and all seemed to be well. Obviously driving in this loose gravel was no fun, but I kept it slow enough that I could maintain control. About 5 km later I got to the Yellowhead highway, but instead of turning left as my original plan had been (which I very briefly did contemplate doing), I turned right and headed towards home. 

I reached out to my friends in Kenora and told them  I could be expected sometime that evening if they still had space for me and they very graciously put me up (and fed me!) for my last night on the road. My right ankle was quite sore from the crash but fortunately protected from anything too serious by my heavy motorcycle boots. But lifting the bike up off the side stand became a challenge and I struggled with gearshifts due to the pain in my ankle. “It’s probably not broken”, I thought, hopefully. As it turns out, I did sprain my ankle but am able to walk on it so that’s a relief.

The drive back provided a lot of opportunity for further contemplation. I was thankful for the opportunity I’d had: this trip had been an adventure regardless of the outcome. By the time the trip was over, I would have ridden 2,400 km over the course of four days, and seen a lot. Plus of course, the additional mini adventure of The Search For Black Sturgron Lake described in an earlier report as a dry run).

I’ve been through northwestern Ontario and across the province of Manitoba and ventured into Saskatchewan. I’ve experienced rain and wind, warm sunny days, cold mornings, blue skies and clouds, the sun shining on my back, cool wind in my face, I talked to some interesting people and learned a bit more about myself. 

Riding back across Manitoba was tiring and challenging due to a very strong wind, and I was reminded of my friend who had tried this trip a year before and he literally got blown off the road by the wind. His adventure had ended earlier than planned as well. It required focus and concentration for me to remain in my lane and not be blasted off into the Prairie like some tumbleweed. 

I got to Kenora in time for a late dinner and slept a sleep of gratitude. The next morning, Saturday, June 10, I woke up early and after a quick breakfast, headed east. It was quite cold for the drive home and I had all of my warm stuff on and zipped up tightly. The hand heaters on the bike still worked and I was full of joy for that small blessing. I arrived home around 5 PM and had a nice soak in a hot tub and a swim in Lake Superior if you want to call a quick dip in and out of the cold water “swimming“.  

As I finalize this message it’s Sunday morning, and that particular adventure is over, but the adventure of life goes on! 

Thank you for reading.