Prior to taking flight to Vancouver on July 31, 2015, I had two expectations for this trip: 1) Don't have any expectations for this trip, and 2) I expect that this is going to change my life forever!!
Obviously, one of those was easier to accomplish than the other.
As hard as I tried to stay grounded before take off that Thursday, I couldn't help but romanticize. I saw myself waltzing into markets and sampling everything from fresh strawberries to raw squid. Meeting strangers who would enlighten me on my path to salvation. Staring into the face of a fawn as we connected on a level reserved for hippies on their fifteenth hour of a mescaline binge.
Vancouver grounded me.
It took awhile for my adventure to fully begin. There was an ample layover in Seattle before hitting Vancouver, which would land me in the Great White North around midnight. "19E" was what my ticket read. A-B-C... D-E... It didn't sound like a window seat.
And it wasn't. A diminutive young lady decked out in Pepto pink from head to toe got the window. And, to my lack of surprise, a largess man with a propensity to sweat despite being completely and utterly inactive on a plane blowing cold air directly onto his face. After the Pink Lady sat down, John Goodman in a Spin Class turned to us and said, "Thank God I'm sitting next to two lovely ladies instead of two big, fat guys."
I'll leave the irony right here...
I had many beautiful music moments on this trip, but it got kicked off bright and early on my first flight. I had been napping when Frenchie with a Neck Pillow opened up the window. The sun hit my eyes at the exact moment The Postal Service arrived on my iPod. "This Place Is A Prison" boomed into my ears as I looked out the window. "And you may case the grounds from the Cascades to Puget Sound..." And I could see nothing but golden rows of the Cascades for miles in every direction. Suddenly, Martin Short's Twelfth Straight Hour in Jiminy Glick Costume next to me didn't seem quite so bothersome.
That wasn't my only amazing flight view, however. I slept, yet again, on my very brief flight from Seattle to Vancouver. I awoke as we circled the airport before our descent. Although the lights were shut off, the entire plane was illuminated. I looked out my window and saw the full moon reflected in the Pacific Ocean, blanketing the mountains with a soft blue haze. It was breathtaking. So much so that the guy behind me preferred to witness it through the lens of his iPhone. Jealousy has never raged harder. Neither has sarcasm.
I had created a loose itinerary for Vancouver based on recommendations by a few friends. As an avid Chicago biker, I knew I wanted to bike in every city I visited. Thankfully, the west coast wants you to bike in every city it has. So rentals are both accessible and reasonable.
The man in the bike shop had given me directions to Stanley Park - essentially the only place tourists have on their agenda when they rent a bike. As I pulled out of the shop, I got a very immediate taste of Canada when a strange man approached me.
"You goin' ta Stanley Park?" he asked, his Tim Horton's coffee in hand.
"Yes," I replied.
"Ya know how ta get there?" he asked.
"Uh, yeah. The guy in there just told me," I signaled back to the bike shop.
The man proceeded to give me the same set of directions, just in case I wasn't 100% clear about 30 seconds prior. I thanked him and headed on my way. Wow, Canadians are so friendly, they seek out being helpful. Even when help isn't necessary.
While breezing through the ample bike lanes on the streets, I couldn't help but smile. I was here. I was doing it. I was... about to go up a steep fucking hill. When your legs are trained to bike Chicago terrain, you will never be fully prepared to bike west coast terrain. No matter how often you bike.
So I hit Stanley Park and couldn't believe how beautiful the Vancouver coastline was. Mountains in the distance, trees in every direction, dangerously low water levels. Eh, so the drought is less than savory to witness. But it couldn't detract too much from Vancouver's beauty.
The one interesting aspect about Vancouver that I should point out is that I was without a cell phone. My sad little dumb phone is not equipped with international service. So when I say I was alone on this leg, I really was.
Biking alone has never felt very burdensome to me. I actually prefer it. Mostly because I hate being around other bikers. But a lesson you have to learn very quickly while traveling alone is: You aren't going to share this beauty with anyone. Obvious, right? But it won't entirely sink in until the first time you see a harbor seal pop up next to you while stand up paddleboarding, gasp, point, and look around to realize you are the only one witnessing it. It doesn't take away from its awesomeness. It simply doesn't add to it.
So after a day of biking, I decided to grab some cheap yet highly ranked Vietnamese food and check out the sunset. It being my first night in Vancouver, I had no idea what time the sun would disappear behind the mountains. Not wanting to miss it, I grabbed my take out and departed around 6:00.
I weaved my way through the woods, walking my beach cruiser rental through mountain biking terrain. And though I got a bit lost, it didn't matter. I was in Canada! So a Canadian jogger showed up like a mystical forest fairy and gladly pointed me in the right direction.
Third Beach was lovely. Full of friends enjoying the unseasonably warm Canadian summer. (Robin Scherbatsky had me believing I had just missed the two weeks of Canadian summer.) I ate my curry dish and stared at the sun... still quite a ways above the mountain range.
Oh well, no fear! I came equipped with my writer's notebook and On the Road. I read for a little bit, but I couldn't find a comfortable reading position on my beach log. So onto the purpose of this trip: To Write! I flipped open my notebook and pressed my pen to the paper and... nothing. Why wasn't my pen bleeding onto the page? I'm on this trip! To be inspired! To live the Kerouacian dream! Surely I have something to say!
"Those girls just got busted for drinking on the beach."
It's okay. I wasn't going to beat myself up over it. Inspiration comes from the oddest of places. Mine was still out there, somewhere.
The sun had moved about half an inch in the sky. I still had about two hours to go. Why did I think I could enjoy watching a sunset for two hours? I don't have sunglass eyes.
The ocean! I can enjoy the ocean! I debated briefly about swimming in my underwear since I was sans a suit, but my lack of towel and desire to wear every outfit at least twice before doing laundry had dissuaded me. But I could dip my feet!
And dip I did! I kicked water around. I balanced on shore rocks. I skimmed for flatties and skipped rocks. I was a regular Gidget!
After the water fun, I still had some time. So I stared. I stared at the girls continuing to drink their contraband. I stared at the friends smoking a joint. And I stared at the guy getting chastised by the lifeguard for smoking a cigarette.
And finally, the sunset came. It looked like the same thing I had been staring at for the past two hours. Except now, it was falling behind a mountain. I wanted to watch the colors in the sky change as the sun left the horizon (the best part!), but I realized that my bike did not come equipped with lights. Rankled, I threw up my fists to the heavens and headed back with the few moments of natural light that remained.
I wasn't changed quite yet. But it's okay. Day one. I have at least thirty more to go. And tomorrow will be Grouse Mountain. Lots of hiking. I'm sure to find my fawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment