Geoff Agnew cross country tour

After 2 long years the derth is reborn

2008-06-03T21:45:00.000-07:00

Hello dear reader,

Things have changed considerably since my last appearance. I'm no longer bearded, I live next to the sea, and can no longer consume Falafels without suffering frightful gastric discomfort. This is painful for me—both physically and emotionally—as I love the falafel ball almost more than life itself. But as we age, we must make hard decisions.

So I've decided to resurrect the derthspeaks, if only to increase my e-presence in the eyes of our great overlord Google. I've changed the title of the blog, and updated my links list. Check them out.

Beyond this being an outlet for me to complain about dietary problems, it also serves as a trip log for my cross Canada bike ride in the summer of 2006. The story unfolds in reverse, so if you're interested in reading about it in proper chronological order, please use the archives on the right.

I love you all.

Eggs

FIN

2006-10-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

Fin.

Ian and I made the trek up to Cape Spear in a raging storm. Steep climbs and thick fog made the trip uncomfortable and dangerous. After a quick obligatory photo next to the plaque it was into the bathrooms to try and regain some warmth. We ended up taking a cab back to the hotel. Yeah, we're lightweights.

The Newfoundland posse. We picked up random cyclists along the way. Originally it was just Ian and I, then Irene and Jean-Sebastien, and finally John.

Irene celebrates her 8000th kilometer.

Here I am standing next to the no smuggling sign. This was my last day of riding. After 68 days on a bicycle, I could finally see the end. As you can see, I was excited.

Argentia ferry terminal. This was my first look at Newfoundland. Rugged landscape.

View of the Atlantic ocean from the Newfoundland ferry. It was a long trip... 14 hours I think. I saw a couple of porpoises swimming off the bow of the boat at one point. According to some ferry regulars, the porpoises plowing alongside the boat is a common occurance.

Ferry from North Sydney to Argentia.

This is my art photo. Watch out Burtynsky, there's a new kid on the block.

My homeboy Ian from Ottawa. At only 18 years of age, Ian rode from Ottawa to St.John's solo. Pretty impressive. At 18 I was only interested in sitting on my duff and finding new ways to skirt responsibility and work.

Cape Breton.

Nova Scotia! Nine down, one to go.

In the bowels of the ferry upon arrival in Nova Scotia.

View of the Atlantic from the ferry to Nova Scotia.

My one and only photo from PEI. By this point, I was so obsessed with making good time I blew past nearly everything of interest. In the distance is Confederation Bridge. I had intended to take pictures while I crossed the bridge by shuttle bus, but was distracted by conversation with the driver. Ce la vie.

The East

2006-09-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

TABERNAC!!! French Canadians live life in the fast lane. If it's potentially life threatening, the French want a piece of it. Cigs for all. Booze available on every corner. Hotdogs blanketed in coleslaw and hamburgers drowned in gravy. Kids riding mini bikes down major highways and leaping off train trusles into murky canal water. And for this I love them.

Pictured above is a bike lane just outside of Montreal. This route stretched for miles, and made entering the city an absolute breeze.

The Lachine canal.

This is Yves and Therese . I was riding around one evening in search of a place to bed down when I passed these folks in their backyard. There were no campsites for many kilometers so Yves was generous enough to let me set up in his yard. Not only that, he let me do my laundry and shower, then fed me cheese and homemade soup. Yves was a righteous fellow that took a chance on a strange traveller despite communication difficulties.

Oh oh. What's this? I sense something adorable coming on. BLAHHHHHH! So small. So precious. So milk crazed. Yves cat got knocked-up a while back and now there are a eight of these things lurking in his front yard. The one on the left looks like a mogwai, pre-gremlin freakout.

Saint-Laurent avec bateau.

Someplace east of Quebec City.

Before you sits the welcome sign to New Brunswick. I couldn't be bothered to trek all the way into the middle of the field for a close-up, so this will have to make due.

World's longest covered bridge! AWOOOOGA!

I finally figured out how to take timed pictures with my camera. You'd think I'd have done this at the beginning, but I'm not that thoughtful. I'd rather wait until there's only 5 days left, then familiarize myself with it. This may be the one and only picture taken with the timer.

Gravel pit accomodations.

Ontario

2006-07-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

Nice try Ontario. Still not as big as Alberta though.

Tim and Toby—booze enthusiasts and excellent riding companions. Technically this photo was taken in Manitoba, but I rode with them in Ontario for the majority of the time. Deal with it.

I think this was taken near Kenora. Look at that big fat paved shoulder. You could take a nap while riding on a shoulder that size. Sadly, the sweetness didn't last.

This day was a hard one for me. It was a stretch from Thunder Bay to Nipigon that we didn't start riding until 3pm. I honestly thought we were going to die out there. There were tons of cars, and even more transport trucks. You really don't know fear until you've had a semi buzz within feet of you travelling in excess of 110 kmh. The shoulder along this highway may as well have not existed, as what was there was so poor it offered us zero respite from the onslaught of bloodthirsty motorists and truckers. For the first time during the whole trip I actually considered taking the bus.

Here I am during happier times. This was taken along the north shore of Superior—a very hilly and beautiful part of northern Ontario. A stranger took this photo. He told me to "look studly". Mission accomplished.

This is one of our many illegitimate campsites along the shore of Lake Superior. When I first rolled into Terrace Bay—the location of this photo—I enquired what the cost of a night at the local RV/campsite would be. $20!?! Twenty dollars to sleep in what amounts to little more than a bug infested parking lot with a couple trees? PEACE SUCKERS! I'll take the free beach with ample firewood and natural bug repellent: the wind. The downside was it rained hard all night, meaning we had sand all over our gear after packing.

Same location, different view.

One of the many tiny lakes found along Highway 17.

Another one of our beachside campsites, this one located outside of Wawa. It was rather challenging to get to, but well worth the effort.

Another shot of the lake from the southern end of Lake Superior Provincial Park.

As usual, we're still on the road come dusk. Throughout most of Northern Ontario we put in long days. Combine that will our late departure times and we often found ourselves riding at sundown.

Lake Superior Provincial Park.

The Midwest

2006-07-11T08:08:00.000-07:00

Everything is big in Alberta

You can't actually see them in this photo, but way off on the horizon stand dozens of huge wind turbines. Unbeknownst to me, Alberta has developed many large wind farms that stretch for kilometers along highway 3. Kind of puts the lone windmill on the Toronto waterfront to shame.

My second stealth campsite in Alberta. Finding stealth sites in eastern Alberta is always a challenge, given the complete lack of trees and endless barb wire fence. Not such an issue if one were travelling by foot, but it makes for difficult movement when hauling a 100lb bicycle. This site turned out to be quite good as the farm equipment blocked me from a secondary road and it was well removed from highway 3.

The bar tender and myself outside "The Boars Nest" in Seven Persons, Alberta. Seven Persons is a tiny little town just west of Medicine Hat. From my brief observations, I could see only two businesses in operation there: Premium Sausage (A sausauge emporium) and The Boars Nest (Local watering hole and the only ATM in town). I was starving by the time I reached Seven Persons, and as much as I love all sausage lunches, I opted to dine at the nest. Once inside I was greeted by Gord (loyal nest patron), the owner and bartender. These three helped turn what was up until that point an abysmal day, into one of my most memorable. Good food and beer—which Gord graciously bought for me—along with good conversation put me in high spirits all the way to "The Hat." If you ever find yourself in Seven Persons, I highly recommend The Boars Nest bar and grill.

Not as big as Alberta's.

Contrary to popular belief, Saskatchewan is NOT flat. The only land I crossed that seemed truly flat was in Eastern Alberta. All of saskatchewan—at least the portion along the Trans Canada—is gently rolling hills.

My campsite in MacGregor, Manitoba. This was a campsite owned and operated by the local legion. It was only $10 and it had free fire wood, washrooms and showers. A far cry from the $28 campsites with pay per use showers here in Ontario. MacGregor was a lovely little town that seemed immaculate in it's cleanliness and order. I got the impression that the residents really cared for both their private, and communal property. Also, a nice woman came by my tent around dusk and gave me a bag full of homemade cookies. SCORE! Here's how I looked post-cookies:

British Columbia

2006-07-10T18:49:00.000-07:00

The best place on earth? My first reaction to this was that the people over at Tourism BC are a group of arrogant blow-hards. I can now say with some authority that this claim does hold water. On earth may be hard to prove. North America? Probably. Canada? Almost certainly.

Myself and Sebastien. I think we look quite dapper, don't you?

Mountains and farmland in the Fraser Valley

This chipmunk loved powerbars.

You can't actually tell from this photo, but this was a really long, steep climb. Sebastien in the background, reaching deep into "the suitcase of courage" in attempt to make the summit.

Outstanding sheep illustration on this one. I also like how the driver is leaning forward, straining to see what he just mowed down. "What the hell was that?!?" Don't worry man. It's just an exploding ram with demonic eyeballs.

The view from Anarchist mountain above Osoyoos. This climb was nutty. Tons of switchbacks and steep grades. I felt like a champ once this one was completed.

A dam on Kootenay river. They have lots of hydro electric dams along the Kootenay. This one was the largest, me thinks. Quite impressive.

Mountains on Kootenay Lake. The Nelson area is beautiful. They have a really cool local radio station called co-op or something like that. Kind of like the CBC's spunky little brother. They were talking about humanure and playing some righteous tunes as I rode the east shore of Lake Kootenay, which only amplified what was already an awesome day. Good radio can work wonders.

On-scari-ari-o

2006-07-10T16:53:00.000-07:00

Greetings humanoids.

It's been so long since our last encounter I don't even know where to start. What intrigues you? Kilometers ridden? Near death experiences? My complete lack of hygiene? Well friends, prepare your brains for an onslaught of rambling and musings from the mind of Derth.

Last time we spoke I was vomiting forth a stream of vitriol that may not have been entirely deserved. Don't get me wrong—Manitoba's roads are an embarrassment; I must point out however, that Ontario, my place of birth and current residence, has many stretches of highway that rival the pitiful conditions found in its little brother to the west. So in Manitoba's defence, you're not alone in your ineptitude. Even a wealthy province like Ontario has great difficulty maintaining it's roadways. Take solace in your mutual crappiness, boys.

But enough criticism for now.

Shortly after my last entry, I rolled into the metropolitan center of Manitoba, Winnipeg. I must admit my expectations for Winnipeg were set rather low. Perhaps that's the Torontonian elitist in me speaking, but it's the truth. To my complete surprise, I found Winnipeg to be a very attractive city. Much larger in size than expected, beautiful riverfront parkland and a lot of personality. I eventually secured accomodation in a hostel near the city centre that was well maintained and to my complete delight, filled with other bicycle tourists. I found this concentration of cyclists so thrilling primarily due to the reprieve it offered from the dispiriting isolation I'd experienced in the preceding 2.5 weeks. Before I left on this trip, people would ask me about the loneliness I would invariably face while cycling solo for such great lengths. I'd respond with the utmost confidence, offering up the simple explaination that "I'm an introvert by nature, thereby perfectly suited to long stretches of solitary activity." Poor naieve little thing. From Castlegar BC to Winnipeg Manitoba I didn't see a single bicycle tourist. That's a long time to go without substantial human contact, even for an "introvert" like myself. Sure I had verbal contact with other people during this time—RV enthusiasts, servers, convenience store attendents, curious locals—but very rarely did this contact go deeper than a 5 minute exchange about where I was going and when I expect to get there. By the time I hit Manitoba I was starting to feel rather estraged from the rest of humanity, so you can appreciate the relief these other cyclists offered.

There was a couple of English folks making the cross, as well as two cousins, Tim and Toby from Vancouver and San Francisco, respectively. The first evening there we spent the night sucking back wine and some local brew we picked up at the Liquor store (I have to point out that the employees at the Manitoba Liquor stores are by far the friendliest, most helpful sales people I've ever encountered in a government controlled liqour retail outlet. Unlike the employees at the LCBO, who seem to regard their customers as some kind of parasitic nuisance, the Manitoba liquor store employees actually ask you things like "Can I help you with something" and, wait for it... they smile! CRAZY! Both Tim and I were in awe upon walking out) while comparing field notes and war stories from the previous leg of the trip.

The following day was a rest day, so I wisely walked around town instead of cycle. When in unfamiliar cities I like to wander aimlessly with no set destination, as I find this method often uncovers hidden gems and helps avoid tourist traps. After walking for several hours I eventually made my way into The Manitoba Museum. They have several amazing exhibits—namely a huge schooner and full scale 2 block re-creation of early 20th century downtown Winnipeg— along with some cool history on native tribes of northern Manitoba and the development and construction of the Churchill railway line. Later in the evening I went out for some beverages with a fellow crossing the country by greyhound bus and another guy from San Francisco travelling by motorcross bike. We eventually found our way to some "happening" bars where, against my better judgement, I drank in great excess and returned to bed around 4 am. Normally this wouldn't be a major concern, but I was scheduled to ship out the next morning and ride a meaty 140km. Somehow I managed to hold it together the whole day despite the gut-rot and post-drunk haze clouding my head. Nearing the end of that days journey we saw at least 25 deer along the side of the road and one very skittish black bear. It was unbelievable. Almost every kilometer someone would spot another deer standing only feet from the roadway. Most often they'd scatter upon sight of us, however, a couple large bucks simply stood their ground and stared as we passed. It's always a pleasure watching deer bound through deep brush with the utmost ease; humans in comparison are such clumsy, bumbling creatures. Tim, Toby and myself eventually rolled into a provincial park around 10 pm, set up our tents and passed out.

Somewhere around Ignace we added two more cyclists to our group: Doug and Naamaan. These guys had been working in Tofino for some time and wanted to return to Sault Ste. Marie for the summer. They bought a couple of used mountain bikes for $200 each and started riding. Each wore a giant backpack—a guitar sticking out of Naamaan's, a bongo out of Doug's— and smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. Despite the immense weight on their backs and the cardiovascular disadvantage from the smokes, both were able to haul ass. Doug and Naamaan were quite adept at sniffing out good, free campsites. With their aid, I was able to spend less than $65 on accomodations from Winnipeg to Toronto—a period of 15 days. (NOTE: For those interested, I plan on writing an indepth article on the value and advantages of stealth camping when bicycle touring once I return from the east coast). We secured many beautiful lakeside sites all the way from Kenora to the Soo. Upon arrival in Sault Ste. Marie, we made our way to Naamaan's cottage for some booze and sauna—something I think we all desperately needed after many long days in the saddle. Tim and Toby had to stay in the Soo an extra day for bicycle maintenance reasons, while I chose to carry on because I wanted to reach Toronto as soon as possible. The roads from Tobermory were pretty crummy with lots of traffic. Combine that with a south wind and I was in one of those moods where I mutter profanities at anything that crosses my path. In retrospect I realize I was pushing myself too hard in those final days before Toronto. I was averaging 18okm days regardless of conditions and my ass and mental stability were starting to wear down. During my second leg of the journey, I have to be more conservative in my riding and less mileage hungry.

Being home has been a relief. I had dinner with my parents and brother and spent time with Marilyn and Speedball. I think my butt has recovered fully so I'm hoping to ship out come Friday.

To this date, I've done approximatly 4300km. I can't be sure because there were several days in the beginning of the trip where I'd remove my odometer during storms (I later realized it is waterproof), resulting in my estimation of distance.

Manitoba

2006-06-19T18:24:00.000-07:00

Congratulations Manitoba! You have won the title of "Worst highways in Canada", narrowly edging out the longstanding favourite, Saskatchewan.

If you haven't already guessed, today was my first day in Manitoba. I rode approximately 150 km, from Moosomin to Brandon. Winds were favourable throughout the day, while the roads, not quite so much. Rarely during this trip have I experienced any anger, let alone pure unbridled rage. Today changed all that.

You see, highways in Manitoba rarely have a paved shoulder. I suppose the folks over at the Manitoba ministry of transportation decided to save a few bucks and forego paving even a 2' strip in consideration of non-motorized vehicles. This leaves me with two very alluring options: ride in the right lane along with all the cars, semi's, and RV's, or ride on the "shoulder" with it's 4-6" of loose gravel. Choices Choices.

Well I chose the lane. Luckily, 99% of drivers have been considerate enough to pull to the left lane when passing. Even with the confidence knowing that motorists will almost always pull to the left, I feel compelled to check my mirror every 20 seconds. As you can imagine, this kind of takes the piss out of my normally tranquil cycling experience.

And just to sweeten this already delicious situation, the edge of the right lane is quite often peppered with large cracks and craters, making it feel like I'm riding over an endless field of miniature speed bumps. Fun! I'm considering hunting down Ron Lemieux, Minister of transportation and government services--I know his name only because his ugly mug is slapped on the back of my Manitoba road map--and punching him straight in his teeth for this ungodly ordeal he has put me, and every other bicycle tourist through that dare cross his province.

Other than that I'm cool.

I wussed out and rented a motel for tonight. Had I stumbled across a campsite in Brandon I probably would have gone that route, but I came across a motor lodge first. I would have tried to stealth camp but I was running low on water, rain is in the forecast, and the bugs are out in force. These three in combination made stealth camping a highly unappealing thought. My perpetual layer of filth seems to attract the bugs without fail. So much so that I'm starting to feel a bit like linus, riding around with a cloud of mosquitoes surrounding my head. It's funny to see the reaction I get from people when in this state. The most common expression is usually that of utter confusion, like most have never seen a 6' man dressed in a leotard and smelling like old cheese.
C'mon people, this is the new millenium. People like me exist and we're everywhere.

Really though, every encounter I've had so far with locals has been friendly. Albertans in particular. I'll elaborate on this at a later date but I'm going to go watch the 3rd period of game seven right now.

Saskatchewan - land of the prarie dog

2006-06-15T10:29:00.000-07:00

Well this blog has certainly not met expectations, but to be honest, I don't care. Well, that's not true. I care. I care deeply my comrades. But as mentioned previously, public internet connections are a rarity in many of the towns I stay in, making frequent updates difficult if not altogether impossible. So I've resigned myself to updating this thing bi-monthly.

I'm now in Saskatchewan, Maple Creek, I think. For the past 5 days I've been fighting the most vicious headwinds I've ever encountered in my life. Strangely enough, within moments of crossing the BC/Alberta border, I was blasted with an unrelenting east wind blowing at what must have been close to 40kmh. At that point I could laugh it off, knowing, hoping, that it would soon swing to the west and things would continue according to plan. WRONG. Pain. So much pain followed. The mountains were childs play in comparison to this nonsense. Every morning I'd wake up only to have my hopes crushed the moment I stuck my head out the tent. So off to the coal mines I went, hammering away, head down, tears streaming from my eyes, wondering what in gods name did I do to deserve this beating. Regardless of the adversity I carried on. Why? Because I am a soldier. Nay, a warrior. For 7 hours of the day, I'd make approximately 65-80km progress depending on wind speed. Finally today, I awoke to a vicious south west wind blowing at a whopping 45kmh. Bliss! Joy! I danced in my long johns outside my tent thanking the weather gods for this glorious, long over-due gift. So here I am, 50km down, another 130 to go until my final destination--swift current. And to sweeten this lovely day, the forecast calls for winds out of the west for the next 7 days! Dues paid in full, yo.

I see approximately 2 prarie dogs every 3 km here. They usually hang out in the middle of the highway--doing what, I don't know. When I see them I scream "PRARIE DOOOOOOGGGGGG"!!!! and they usually scramble into the roadside brush. I did encounter one cavalier fellow that mearly stared as I beared down on him howling my battle cry. At the last moment he jumped aside, barely missing my front wheel and certain death by spoke. I suppose he gets his kicks playing chicken with oncoming traffic. Local bad boy.

I have much to regale you folks with from my days spent in BC, but due to time constraints here at the tourism office it will have to wait until another time.

Until next time. PEACE OUT!!!

Vancouver - Kent - Hope 150km

2006-05-28T16:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of updates but finding internet connections out here has proven harder than I thought.

I am now in Hope BC, a small town located approximately 180 km east of Vancouver. Yesterday was my first official day of riding in which I travelled 110 km from Vancouver to Kent. Overall, the highway I rode (7, for those of you interested) was quite pleasent. There was ample shoulder for most the journey and courteous drivers too boot. I had one frightening experience just west of Coquitlam where the shoulder completely disappeared, effectively forcing me into traffic for a good 1/2 kilometer. This was by far the most unsettling cycling situation I've had yet, as the cars were moving at 100kms + and seemed completely oblivious to my presence. After many "dear god let me survive this" requests and some steely determination on my part, I made it through. Shortly after passing Coquitlam I encountered a friendly cyclist named Jason on his way to ride some mountain trails. It turns out Jason has many years of touring experience and was a wealth of helpful information. Around 6pm I rolled into Kilby campsite, where within seconds of arrival, was accosted by several semi-drunken 20 somethings who invited me over for food and drinks. After a couple of old milwaukee's I made my way back to the tent whereupon it started to rain. It rained for the entire night, leaving all of my belongings in varying states of wetness. Despite the uncooperative weather, I set out around 9 am in a light drizzle. By mid-morning the sun had come out and riding conditions were excellent. For much of the trip I was traveling within a couple hundred meters of the Fraser river, with it's large whirlpools and swift current making for fascinating scenery. I've seen a lot of dairy cows throughout the Fraser Valley, most of which stare me down whenever I roll pass. I desperately want to approach them but I'm afraid of being caught by their owners.

Around 3pm I rolled into Hope. While searching out a local campsite I came across another tourist also riding to the east coast. Apparently, Sebastien had been holed up here for the past couple of days due to poor weather. He seemed excited to find another cyclist and promptly invited me to share the motel suite he had rented. I gladly accepted as my tent and clothing needed to dry out and the forecast called for showers throughout the night. As I settled in for bed that evening, I felt an odd rumbling in my gut. Just to play it safe I approached the toilet, where I immediately let out a hearty stream of vomit. Thinking the sickness was the result of some questionable pizza, I crawled into bed. Sadly, my slumber didn't last. By 4 am I had expelled all solid and liquid material from my ravaged body. The pain was so crippling I decided to call the local hospital--911 didn't work, I guess they take Sundays off here--where I was greeted by a nurse who showed virtually zero interest in my predicament. After our brief and altogether unhelpful exchange, I hung up the phone and continued dry heaving until I finally passed out.

I'm feeling better today, and will hopefully be recovered by tomorrow morning as I'm getting a bit stir crazy here.

When I get more time on the internet I'll make an attempt to upload photos.

Onwards!

2006-05-01T19:30:00.000-07:00

That's more like it. In the past 6 days my physical condition has improved by leaps and bounds. My knees, back, and butt feel top-shelf. Granted, only once have I taken the fully loaded beast out. All other rides were done on the much lighter, faster and more responsive road bike. Miles are miles though, right?

Okay. I know I need to start riding the mule more often, and I will. I finally have all the major gear needed for the trip and can now train on it with an accurate feel for what I'll be enduring daily for the next few months. I must say, the touring rig is quite difficult to handle. At low speeds the handlebars jerk nervously back and forth as I try and stabilize the collective 45lbs of gear spread across the bike. Once at speed steering becomes less an issue, that is of course until I try and turn. Unlike the catlike behaviour of most road racing bicycles, the loaded tourer turns in wide arcs much like a schoolbus. I must keep this in mind before I go barreling into hairpin turns.

I camped out in my backyard two nights ago in order to test out my new tent and sleeping bag. The ground in the yard is awfully lumpy, which resulted in a restless, uneven sleep. At first I was quite warm so I took off my pants and slept only with a sweater. This soon proved problematic as the temperature between my lower extremeties and upper body fluctuated wildly. Being the stubborn fool I am, I decided to stick it out instead of re-installing my pants. I simply zipped up my mummy bag to it's maximum, pulled the draw string tight as possible and hunkered down. To my utter delight, I awoke in a puddle of sweat and stink, as the morning sun had heated the tent to an oppressive temperature. This was unsatisfactory, and I wanted out immediately. After a good minute or two of fumbling for the both door and zipper to my bag I was free from the death pod; pantless and happy. Lesson learned: Leave the fly open.

So I leave on May 25, guaranteed. This seems like it should be a sufficient amount of time to tie up all the loose ends—especially considering I don't work at the moment—but I have a sneaking feeling that I'll be scrambling right up to the last minute.

Busy man about town

2006-04-26T23:32:00.000-07:00

CRIPES, talk about negligence! Over an entire month has slid by without even the slightest peep. Disgusting really.

In my defense, I have been terribly busy with all sorts of important life matters. Why just yesterday I had two chunks of bone pried from my skull by a friendly oral surgeon out in Mississauga. Since neither tooth was impacted, I was advised that local anaesthetic would be easier—and cheaper—than going with the more common general anaesthesia. Being the thrifty shopper I am, I opted for local without even the slightest hesitation. At the time it seemed like a no-brainer, but as I consulted friends on their wisdom tooth experiences I grew uneasy. Words like "mashed", "screwed", and "murderous pain" seemed common to each exchange. Naturally, by the time of my appointment I was a ball of tightly wound fear. They drugged me with the baby syringe first, then they pulled out the big honking chrome syringe with the 5" needle. Amazingly neither was that bad. What surprised me most was the method in which the surgeon removed my teeth. He grabbed my head with one hand for stabilization, and with the other shoved some kind of blunt object (nickle plated shoehorn?) into my mouth. He then proceeded to violently jam the shoehorn against my tooth with such brutal force that it uprooted itself from my fleshy gum. At this point I was half laughing half crying at the absurdity of the operation. Thinking I was finally through with this ungodly ordeal, he went in with the thread and proceeded to sew me up. If you've ever had hockey skates tied up really tight by a full grown adult when you were a kid, imagine that same force being applied to your mouth and you might be able to appreciate what I endured through this guys lacing.

Another high point this week was doing my income tax. After countless hours in front of the computer, rifling through folders of receipts and discussing the finer points of writing off 1/4 of 1/4 of my bedroom/office, we concluded that I owe the government $2000. This obviously upsets me, but I deserve it as I've paid nothing all year. Don't cry for me argentina.

Enough with the irrelevent ramblings, yes?

So I've ridden maybe a grand total of 200km in the past 3 weeks. I'm terribly out of shape and it frustrates me to no end. I've been riding the touring bike for the most part, and can now say with absolute certainty that it is the slowest, unsexiest bicycle I own. It weighs so bloody much I can barely lift it when fully loaded. Perhaps I'm just disgruntled because I can't physically perform the way I'd like to and am taking my frustrations out on the bike. I'm sorry bicycle. I'm sure we'll come together as one being over time.

WARNING: BICYCLE NERD-OUT STUFF — SKIP OVER UNLESS YOU WANT TO GO BLIND FROM BOREDOM.

Since aquiring my Fuji touring way back in December, I have made the following modifications:

I rebuilt the front wheel with DT spokes for greater durability. However, I accidently bought spokes 3mm shorter than the originals and hadn't realized this until I finished lacing the wheel. By this point I really didn't want to take the whole thing apart, go spend another $20 on new spokes, and re-lace it so I just built it up. The end product is a REALLY high tension wheel that hopefully won't spazz out once I put weight on it. I did however, get a second opinion from a seasoned wheel-builder who said: "That's really tight, but I think you'll be okay." See. Nothing to worry about.

I also swapped out the stock rear wheel for a new rear with a Shimano Deore hub and SunRims CR18 rim. Not really high-end stuff, but definalty a step up from the garbage that shipped with the bike.

Swapped the cheapo stock rack with an oversized Jandd Expedition rear rack, and a Old Man Mountain low-rider front rack.

Other than those small adjustments the bicycle is completely stock. Some people suggest that I replace the 32-42-52 drivetrain with something more touring oriented, but I simply can't afford to drop more loot on gear.

I'd write more but I'm getting sleepy. More at a later date.

The facts as told by me

2006-03-09T20:43:00.000-08:00

For those of you unfamiliar with this grand expedition, allow me to fill you in on the Who's, Why's, When's and Where's of the situation.

I, Geoffrey Holland Agnew, am going to attempt to ride my bicycle across 10 Provinces starting in May of 2006. Now, before you start throwing words around like 'hero' or 'super star athlete' let me assure you I am little more than a common Canadian boy with big dreams. My reasons for this trip are numerous:

1) I have only been to 4 of Canada's 10 provinces, and the extent of my travel in 2 of those 4 was superficial at best. Can I really say I know BC if I've only seen Stanley Park and the Gondola on Whistler mountain? Does time spent in R. Jabbaz's charming squat in Halifax constitute a comprehensive understanding of Nova Scotia? Yes these are all interesting Canadian locales, but I'm looking for something a little more robust (like the shoulder of the Trans Canada Highway).

2) I need a break from Toronto. This city has been good to me, but spending another summer here sucking back acrid air and scrambling to get to work on time is frightening. I'm a lout. I want to lie around in the sun like a gluttonous beaver and watch my toenails grow. Toronto doesn't offer me that. Besides, if I stayed here and lived off my egg, I'd probably spend it all in a month on falafels. Then what would I have to show? Rotten innards.

3) I see this as a rite of passage. If I was living on some remote island in Indonesia, my father would have taken me out to the edge of the woods, handed me a blunt stick and told me to get lost for a month or four. What does the modern man have to do? Nothing. We're crap. Truly and honestly. If I get eaten by a bear I'm a chump. If I pack it in after Ontario I'm a chump. If I get lost in the wilds of Manitoba and my parents have to get me airlifted back to civilization, I am a chump. Completing this trip means that I am at least in some small capacity, able to survive on my own.

That pretty much covers the Who's, Why's and When's. The Where's coming up next.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life!

2006-03-01T20:29:00.001-08:00

AT LAST! I have an online journal!

After fighting off months of crippling urges to start a blog, I've finally done it. I'm one of "them" now.

Let me start off by saying this was done out of neccessity rather than desire. Ideally—if I had any brain power/motivation/stick-to-it-ness—I would have created some high falootin' blog/website thing that could be remotely updated from where ever in the world I may be. But alas, I am no programmer. Hence, Blogger.

So on with it. I will be using this primarily as a place to update my family/friends/enemies as to my whereabouts and general life status during what I've coined: "THE JOURNEY OF ENLIGHTENMENT". Posts will increase in frequency as my departure date nears.