August 21, 2004

The following is a transcript of the notes I wrote on August 10th, the 27th day of my journey:
Late in the evening, nearly a month after my journey began, I threw open the garage door and rolled my bike inside. A disgusting grin mutilated my unshaven face as I gently lay the purple monster against the nearest wall, thankful that it brought me home. My dad was smoking on the porch.

“So you’re alive,” he said. Before leaving I didn’t tell him where I was heading nor how I was getting there. I just sent home vague postcards from faraway places, making him suspect my sanity.

But I was more than alive, I wanted to say, I was violently and radiantly animated, my limbs tormented by savage energy. The road had changed me — it made my body hard and sunburnt and taught me strange things about myself.

During my journey I learned that pain is inconsequential, that I can survive on a thin edge of asphalt as monsters of steel rush by within inches of my life.

I learned that the body adapts to everything, that I can sleep in abandoned places and dark forests, and that there is no such thing as fear.

I learned how to love and hate, how to use my hands and lips to open doors of ecstasy.

I learned to see sunsets with my eyes closed and Martha’s lips on mine, and afterwards I learned the meaning of solitude and heartache.

I learned that friends will rush out 300 km out of their way to help me fix my bike and to spend sleepless nights with me.

I learned to struggle against the weather while cursing the rain, the wind, and Brian D’Souza.

I learned to survive in the wilderness with a Swiss knife and endless cans of tuna.

I learned that there’s colour and beauty everywhere, and I came home satiated and deeply thankful.

But instead of saying all that to my father, instead of ranting about beauty and meaning on the darkened porch, I headed for the shower and then slept restlessly, unused to my own bed.

Let’s all grab our bikes between our legs and vanish beyond the thin horizon, chasing impossible destinations!