Look Ma, No Hands
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On Saturday, June 27th, 2020, after 105 days of Covid-isolation alone in my tiny, single-souled apartment in Toronto, I took off on my old Raleigh bicycle, packing nothing but some bike tools, camping gear, and a change of clothes. In search of some personal sanity amidst a global pandemic, I headed for Vancouver, by myself, nearly five thousand kilometers away. The day after I left, however, my mother died. My relationship with my mother had been complicated. Her sudden death was completely unexpected and left me with many unsaid words, unanswered questions, and unfinished business. Mom, how ...
On Saturday, June 27th, 2020, after 105 days of Covid-isolation alone in my tiny, single-souled apartment in Toronto, I took off on my old Raleigh bicycle, packing nothing but some bike tools, camping gear, and a change of clothes. In search of some personal sanity amidst a global pandemic, I headed for Vancouver, by myself, nearly five thousand kilometers away. The day after I left, however, my mother died. My relationship with my mother had been complicated. Her sudden death was completely unexpected and left me with many unsaid words, unanswered questions, and unfinished business. Mom, how do I write our final chapter and find peace for us without your help or input? I hadn't a clue. However, with her ashes in tow (mom riding VIP up front on the handlebars), somehow I was - we were - going to have to figure it out. And this is how my solo journey from Toronto to Vancouver became a bicycle ride for two. But could I, at the age of forty-five, after not having been on a bike for four years, just get up and ride thousands of kilometres across the country and then up the skyscraping mountain range of the Canadian Rockies? Especially after only three training rides to prepare? There was only one way to find out. Ready, Mom? Let's go...
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