End: Vancouver BC.
An Orange ball of fluff, sniffing and pacing the length of my sleeping bag. Marcus, an old cat, cranky and reluctant to cuddle. Not the best sleeping buddy, Marcus doesn’t like Marcus… odd. Scooting away from his couch, I found it easy to fall asleep without being bothered. Opting for the floor, not a drastic change from what we are used to, yet considerably better then sleeping with an old weezing cat in the extra room.
Seattle greeted us with a cloudy morning once more, setting the stereotype true in my mind. A morning of discission and a verdict reached. To sit back and re-weigh everything before us and justify the outcome became a hard task. Across the country, about 3800 miles, 12 states and so many towns I can not begin to count, we decided to say good bye to the bikes. Little less than a month left and 2400 more miles to cover, the task would have been a chore. Redundant 100+ mile days back to back until the destination was reached, such a grind. With the day spent cycling and any spare moment being split between eating and sleeping to only then turn around and jump on a plane to make it home on time, sounds like a drag….Nothing more than a duffel bag and our cameras, we will continue north, Alaska in sight.
I boxed up my pony, breaking her down and packing as much as I can into the tight space. Keeping just my clothes, sleeping bag and camera, the lighter we can go the more likely we will be successful in catching rides. Dirk boxed up his saddle bags and donated his pony to BikeWorks. No turning back now. With hugs and goodbyes, we left Seattle and Megan whome been so kind.
Such a strange feeling walking I thought. My left knee is still one of my main discomforts, not remembering the act of walking, such a strange motion. As we headed for the bus station, Vancouver was on my mind and north bound we set. Falling asleep in my seat, I can only imagine what will come next, the story to unfold.
As the bus comes to a halt, the border crossing begins. Single file, we all exit the bus. Funneled into the doorway, Dirk and I just so happen to be last. Finishing the last of my food and straightening up, we approach the officer. Already in my mind I know we are going to get crap and boy did I call it. Out of the whole bus we were selected out. Maybe the beards or maybe the fact that I look like a shoe bomber…. either way we sat for 10 minutes until being questioned some more. Watching the bus driver pacing about, looking through the glass doorway that separated us from the public and scratching his head, I was sure he wasnt a happy camper. With our passports back and cracking a smile, we booked it back to the bus. The crossing over and Canada under our feet, I am excited for whats to come.
Off the bus and overwhelmed by the size of the city and the mountains towering over the north, I start making the phone calls. Contacting Robin, a long time friend of my girlfriend, we had a place to crash for the night. I was looking for a yellow house on MacDonald street just blocks away from the water. With that in mind and my gps on, we headed into the city. Nothing would prepare me for what we were about to experience as we met Robin her room mates. If it wasn’t for their Canadian pride shining bright, Americans I would have dubbed them. Fun, loud and full of character, we had fun. A great dinner and laughing into the night, it is nice to be welcomed into a home or even a country as a matter of fact.
As the story takes a turn, new sights will be seen and experiences be held. The ability to adapt to a situation and come out on top is key. Not letting the time constraint nor budget hold us back, the journey can only continue.