August 17, 2004

The following is a transcript of the notes I wrote on August 6th, the 23rd day of my journey:
To wash dreams away and the pain of stones jammed in my back during the night, I ran naked over slippery rocks and plunged in the intoxicatingly blue water in front of my tent. The impact chilled me to the bone and I jumped out with a gasp moments later.

And because my body felt strangely electrified I screamed to the wind, “I’m biking all the way to Tobermory in one day!” The wind too was cool and strange. I expected it to blow from the South in the summertime, pushing me towards my destination, but it decided to come from the North, howling at me all the way from Tobermory.

I got to feel its strength once I passed Wiarton and the highway narrowed to a strip of asphalt. With so much opposing force I doubted I’ll ever see Tobermory alive. My hands shook and I cursed the day until I looked behind me and saw the other rider slowly coming towards me. I pulled on the gravel shoulder and waited for him to slice his way through the wind.

“Heading to Tobermory?” he asked. He was older, wiser, and better equipped than me; his grey hair gave him dignity, confidence.

“We used to do that all the time when we were young,” he reassured me, seeing I was a bit worn down.

I let him pass in front of me to break down the force of the wind and cruised behind him for endless kilometres. He kept up a steady, vigorous pace, and my legs ached trying to keep up. But I had no choice — I didn’t want to face the howling beast alone.

“Looks like I’ll reach Tobermory after all,” I muttered, and I did just as the sunset ignited the evening sky. On the stony shore I watched the fading light with a satisfied and tired smile. Though it took me over three weeks, I reached the furthest point of my trek, and Tobermory rewarded my arrival with an orgasm of colours.