This is so messed up! How did it go so wrong? We were just going to mess around with her. Now I am so terrified I’ve wet myself. What the hell were we thinking! Okay, I’m panicking, I realize that. Okay, just try to stay calm. I have to go home and make it look natural. I can’t go home like this. I’m a mess and I’ve been crying. I have got to get it together. I can’t stop thinking about it. This can’t be real. Oh shit. What have we done? I keep going over it. Okay, one last time. What could I have done differently?

The guys and I just went out riding after school, like we always do. I went over to Steven’s house and we waited for Mario. Then we all went over to get George. We were bored of the usual parks and paths. I think Steven suggested we go to the quarry and ride the rim and see if we could get down into it. No one else had a better idea so we decided to go. It was a long ride. It took nearly an hour. Steven was going to be late for dinner. He knew that even before we left. But his family is so lax, lax about everything. His morals aren’t what I would call up to par. His Dad had been divorced before because he cheated on his wife. His second wife became my second mom. I was over there all the time. She and my mom always prepared extra food just in case we decided to come over to each other’s place. We always did. Steven was a great guy, a little slow but loyal as a hound dog. He was also big so no one would bother me. We just laughed all the time and did all kinds of things. The only problem was that he had a weak will. He would go along with anybody. This wasn’t such a good thing since he had become out informal leader. I’m not sure how or why that happened. I guess because he was more aggressive than any one of us. He would stand up for himself and the group when trouble came around. His dad wasn’t around too much so Steven got bought off with all kinds of thing. That’s why he had the best bike and the worse diet. He always lagged behind.

He was lagging behind now as we rode along Main Street. We were well out of the downtown area and riding through suburbs. Street names that I never heard of went by. We were definitely out of our territory. I didn’t recognize a single kid and they looked at us like foreigners. We were in a sense. When new kids came into our block we always followed them to see where they were going. To intimidate them and to tell them that this was our place and they were invading. Odd to think how much kids are like little adults with no consciences.

We were out into farmland now and the road was a two lane highway with cars whipping past at 80 km/h. We had to stick to the gravel shoulder and it was slow going. The cars threw up dust and dirt and it filled my lungs. It tasted like salt left over from the winter gravel trucks. The quarry wasn’t too far off now. Mario was in the lead. Reckless abandon was his motto, which is why he liked to be in front.

Mario was the second of twins. His sister, Debbie, was a few seconds older than he was and she never let him forget it. Debbie was a beauty, even at our age. She was the only one that I didn’t consider icky. She was tall and thin and pale, just like her brother. What made her beautiful made him look like a rake. He had this thin hair that was more misbehaved than he was. Their folks were very well off. His dad was a jeweler in Toronto. They too lacked for nothing and while Debbie capitalized on this, Mario seemed to be the opposite. He almost looked like a street kid. Always dirty and his clothes were ripped and old. I bet it drove his mom nuts. We never went to Mario’s place too often, mostly because he lived farther away than the rest of us. We all lived in the same neighborhood. All our streets were named after the farmer’s kids who owned the land. But mostly we never went to Mario’s because he didn’t want us to. I never saw his room the whole time I knew him. I practically lived in Steven’s room and George’s basement. Mario was a bit of a loner too. Whenever our plans didn’t jive with what Mario wanted he would just take off. He also had another group of friends to hang out with. The rest of us only had each other but Mario was on a hockey team. We didn’t like those guys. They were way too violent and Steven didn’t look so big next to them. So we stayed away when Mario was with them.
I still remember the day that Mario showed up with the biggest shiner. He was so proud of it. His eye was swollen shut and it was purple. I had never seen skin go purple before. He had got it defending his sister’s honor. One of his hockey buddies was getting fresh with her and Mario stepped in. He stepped in and was stepped on. Like I said, he wasn’t very big. I always had the biggest crush on Debbie and I always thought she looked my way. However, I always thought of that black eye and what Mario did for his sister. I didn’t want Mario to have to hit me.

We got to the quarry finally. It was late afternoon and it was hot. In hindsight it probably wasn’t such a great idea to ride across town in the heat of the day but we were never known for our smarts. We just did stuff. We kept going along the road because there was a gas station at the next intersection. We all got drink except for me. The guys always seemed to have money. I had a paper route and I knew I had more money than them but my Dad had imbibed on me that I was to save it all and spend none of it. So that’s what I did. I looked at drinks as a luxury. So I went out back and took a drink from the tap. No wonder I was healthier than them. It also probably was the difference. They guys were on a big sugar rush. 90 pound kids and a bottle of pop is a powerful combination. George especially was susceptible to it. He was tiny. I was always happy when George was in my class. It meant that I was not the smallest and we would share the ‘picked on’ category. But we all know that George was going to be a big boy. His shoes were huge and he was always growing out of them. His folks were big people as well so George had this confidence about him. It was like he allowed them to pick on him now but he knew he would grow up and would remember those who took advantage of his size. He never did though. He was too smart. George was an interesting piece of work. He was the level headed one, the conscious and our mascot. He was an accident. He parent never planned on having him. His folks were old when they had him. A few examples, George was an uncle 3 times over by the time he was 12. His next nearest sister was twice as old as him at the time of this story. His dad retired from the Plant before George got into high school. He knew he was an accident. He was always surrounded with older people. He played with his nieces and nephews. This all has an effect on a guy. George was grown up before his time. And that contradiction of a man stuck in a very small child’s body was hard for him and it came out in the most peculiar ways. This was most notable in the fact that he would never cry in front of us. Never, never, never. Not even when he managed to jam a piece of fence right through his hand. He just removed it himself. Walked home! Cleaned himself up and went back to school. But we always knew that he must cry at night. We just knew it and it broke our hearts. That’s why we never talked about it and why we let him hang out with us. George tried so hard to be a kid but he acted like an adult. It was hard on us too. We called him dad sometimes and that really burned him. I don’t know what ever happened to George. It was a case of us not really wanting to know just in case we found out he cried in public once. If that was the case it would be all over for him.

We rode back to the quarry, and rode around the rim looking for a way in. There was a fence that was on a road the trucks used to get into the pit. But it was locked and there was no way around it. Mario got off his bike often as we rode around again and tried to climb down. Steven egged him on, I said to come back that it was too steep. George just watched. The path around the rim was well worn. Dirt bikes came here often but we didn’t see any today but their tracks were unmistakable. We were getting a bit bored. It was not the adventure we were hoping for. We were about to give up and go home when we saw her. A girl in a pink dress riding along the path that led to the quarry across a field. She had a little white bike with tassels from the handle bars. We could see her little pig tails had ribbons on. And she was alone, prime target for a little teasing.
We were all of an age that girls were icky but we were finding commercials on TV more “interesting”, especially the ones with scantily clad women. Steven was way ahead of us in this department. He was the first to develop armpit hair and reveled in showing us any new ones. He had failed a grade early on so was a year ahead of us. He was the first one to start after her. We, of course, followed, George bringing up the rear as usual.
We got up to her quickly and I thought we were going to do a quick drive by to scare her and show off out manliness. But Steven, at the last second, slowed down and stuck his arm out. He grabbed at her pig tail as he rode by. I thought he was nuts. She might fall and hurt herself. I was always paranoid of getting into trouble and therefore paranoid of somebody who might tell on us. I froze to see what would happen. Steven got some hair and tugged as he went by. She yelped and Steven laughed. It looked like fun so I tried the same thing. But I am notoriously uncoordinated. I nearly fell off my bike as I rode by and hit a bump. I didn’t get her hair but I damned near ran into her. Mario was on the other side and he got just a snippet of hair but he didn’t let go. He managed to take some hair with him. Boy did she scream. She slowed down to a stop to turn around. It is common knowledge that girls can’t turn their bikes around while riding. As she stopped, George finally caught up. He had no intention of doing anything. Just to get to the guys and tell them what foolishness this was. And as usual, George got the consequences of our actions. She faked pushing her bike into George. He swerved and went off the path and into the bushes. They slowed him down and tore at his legs. He went down. When he got up, he was mad. I’m not sure at what, but he was mad. I had never seen George mad before. It was actually quite funny. The guys thought it was funny too because they started laughing. That must have really burned him up. He hasn’t said anything the whole way up but I guess he must have been tired. George was always sick. Right from when he was born he was always sick. He spent the first 6 months of his life in a hospital and had been in and out ever since.
George got back on his bike and rode at the girl. I guess he was mad at us for laughing and her for making him ride into the bush. But he was mostly mad because he paid for what we did. But he couldn’t do anything to us but he could to her. The girl was scared and hopped on her bike. She was actually waiting to see if George was all right but I think she regretted it now because she lost her head start. George had some trouble getting going. Maybe he was hurt but he got up to speed on the trail and caught up to her. I had no idea what he was going to do once he caught her. There isn’t much you can do. But he passed her and took his hand off the handlebar. It was then we all realized why it took him so long to get going. He threw sand at the girl and it hit her square in the face. That’s when George’s plan, what little planning there was, fell apart. The two bikes came together as the girl lost control. George went down first. Not fast because girls can’t ride that fast right? The girl’s bike went over George’s bike then over George. Then she went down and landed on her hands. Guys know to roll when they fall off. We have fallen off a lot. But she landed and started to cry immediately. George obviously wasn’t hurt because he got up immediately too. I saw that he knew his rage had made him act rashly. He was going over to help her. She saw it differently. When she saw him she lunged at him and began clawing at him.
The rest of us has stopped a little up the trail and were watching all this, slightly amused. But when the girl attacked George, Steven sprang into action. He was very protective of us and took his role as leader seriously. But he wasn’t a thinker. He threw his bike down and ran. He would have got there faster if he rode, but like I said, he wasn’t a thinker. Mario and I got on our bikes and started after Steven. I managed to get Steven’s bike along with mine. That was one of my special talents. The guys called me tow truck. I had acquired this rather specialized skill as George’s parents often came to get him from my place and I always took his bike back to him the next day.
Mario caught up to and passed Steven and was the first on the scene. But he has no idea what to do. George was holding his arms up in front of him trying to protect his eyes. The girl was flailing madly. I knew she couldn’t see well from the dirt in her eyes as she was missing terribly. George never fought back as he was taught not to hit girls. As was Mario, who was punished severely if he even touched his sister. So George held his arms up and Mario just stood there not knowing what to do. Steven however had no such moral dilemma. He and his sister would readily fight while his parent calmly watched TV.
Steven literally leapt on her and flung her back. She landed a few feet away on her back. I rode up just then to see her eyes. They were full of fear. Steven obviously didn’t see that. He lunged at her again. I must give the girl some credit. She moved fast. But Mario moved faster. He grabbed Steven. Steven turned on him and pushed him away. Steven turned back around to see the girl running away. He took off in pursuit, Mario in pursuit of Steven. I dropped both bikes and went to George. He sat calmly on the ground, a bit stunned. I asked if he was okay and he responded by saying we had to stop Steven. I had no idea what he meant. George just said Jason. Now I realized why we must stop Steven. He doesn’t know his own strength.
Jason was a kid in a grade lower than us. He stole Steven’s swing when he leapt off of it. He could always get the highest of us all but couldn’t beat Mario’s style when leaping off. Steven came back and just grabbed the swing from the kid. Pushed him off and started pounding on him. The kid was nearly senseless when the teacher pulled Steven off. He was suspended and Jason went to another school. Steven said he didn’t remember what happened just that he kept hitting and forgot who he was hitting. George was afraid it would happen again.
So George and I leapt up and got on our bikes. We caught up to Mario who had Steven by the shirt shaking him. I thought it was odd that Mario had the strength to shake Steven. But it seemed to do the trick. Steven looked around at the girl fleeing across the field. We all stopped and caught our breath. We all were a bit shocked and out blood definitely ran high. We were all shaking.
We then heard a voice from the field. It was the girl. She was yelling all kinds of things that girls shouldn’t be yelling. So we yelled back. Then she said she was calling the cops, that made us stop. Steven has been arrested once for shoplifting and his dad nearly beat him unconscious. He had no intention of letting that happen again. He took off back down the trail. We followed like good soldiers. George yelled, “What are we doing?” He said getting her bike. That was one of Steven’s most truly inspiring moments. A trade, her bike for our freedom. Steven got the bike and yelled at her that if she ever wanted to see it again then she wouldn’t tell. She was pretty brave and said she would tell anyway and the cops would get it for her. Hmm, Steven was stumped. Mario came to the rescue. He yelled that if she told we would throw her bike into the quarry. She didn’t say anything. I guess she was trying to figure out if we would do it or not. I knew Steven would. He had thrown mine into the creek from the bridge once on a dare. Luckily I could fix it but I never called his dare again. Next time I might still be on the bike. So Steven picked up the bike and started to walk to the fence. She screamed! She said “All right!” if we left her bike there she wouldn’t tell. So Steven unceremoniously dropped the bike where he stood and backed off with his arms wide open. We all started to walk away as she started towards it. She kept a wary eye on us.
When she got to her bike she picked it up and looked at it. She yelled that there was a scratch on it. We all acted in a very mature fashion and pretended we were crying over the scratch. That pissed her off. She hopped on and started to pedal. She yelled back that she was going to tell. My heart sank, my knees went weak and I pictured the yelling my father would do. I turned and ran for my bike. I assumed the others did as well but I passed them on my bike as they ran past to get theirs.
I rode like the devil. I could see where she went and pursued like my pants were on fire. I had no idea what I was going to do but I knew I had to stop her. I never thought once that she might be bluffing. Who was she going to tell? We weren’t even from here. How would she find us? I wasn’t thinking.
I heard the guys behind me but I was way ahead. I caught up to her as she passed a bend. There was a long straight path ahead. I came up beside her and pushed her, hard. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to do. She fell and I realized that was the wrong thing to do. It was only making things worse. But it is always funny the things that go through your mind when crises happen. As she landed she started to roll. I though, she’s learning. Then I saw her disappear. I was shocked at first and a bit confused. Where did she go? I skidded to a stop and turn the bike around as I did. There was her bike and a cloud of dust from my skid but no little girl. The guys came screaming around the corner, George last. They slowed when the saw me. Their looks asked the question. I answered with a shrug. I got off my bike and walked to her bike. It was then I realized what had happened.
The spring rain had washed out part of the wall of the pit. The fence was six feet from the side. If you walked along it was an optical illusion, it looked like the fence was connected to the ground. It wasn’t. It was suspended in mid air. My heart sank for the second time that day. Shit. I looked at the guys. Steven looked at me. He looked down the path and back at me. He said, “Last one home is a bum-licker, and took off.” Mario and George stared at Steven’s back. Mario looked down and took off slowly. He never looked up. George stood there straddling his bike, looking at the gap in the fence.
I stared at George. He was white. Then we heard a small voice say “help”. George went even paler. I thought he was going to throw up. She was still alive. I could see the thoughts going through his head. He started to think again. She is going to send the cops after us for sure now. She is going to climb out and call the cops. And we won’t be able to stop her. Then it dawned on him. She doesn’t know us. We aren’t from around here. If they do find us we can deny it. He hopped off and grabbed a fallen tree branch. He started sweeping the area with it. We had watched a cowboy movie where the hero had hid his tracks that way. George was thinking, but in the wrong way. When he was done he looked at me and said, “let’s get outta her before she climbs out.” I still stared at him. He said it again, like I didn’t hear. I got off my bike and walked to the gap. George said “C’mon!” I looked over the edge.
The wall of the quarry was sloping all the way around. It was steep but it would be a hell of a toboggan ride in the winter. It sloped everywhere but here. Here it dropped straight down. She was hanging on to a ledge and a root. I tensed up and turn to tell George to help me or she would fall. George was gone. I can’t believe he left me.

I looked back down the pit. She looked up and quietly said “help”. She was scared of me. I was the one who pushed her down the hole. She thought I was going to kill her and was appealing to my goodness. I dropped to my knees and stretched out my hand. Not even close. She said “help me” again and I said I was coming. I got on my belly and again reached out. I was off by about five feet. I was not a big kid and I never wished more than then that I was taller. If the guys were here they could grab my ankles. But they were not. I inched forward and loose dirt fell down the side into her eyes. She whipped her head away and I saw her grip loosen. I said to hold still and that I was coming. I knew she would die if she fell. I just knew. I started to slide down the side. Even if I could get to her I couldn’t pull her up. But I kept going anyway. Then it dawned on me. If I got to her she could climb up me and then pull me up. I could not go farther down the side to get at her. I stopped my slide with my hands as I came to a big root sticking out the side. I had to go further. I let go and slide some more. Too fast! I scrambled, loose dirt went flying. I grabbed the root as it went past my hip. I had only one hand forward now and I was sliding sideways now. My foot felt something. I looked up. It was the sheared off end off an old fence post, worn smooth. I hooked my foot with it and reached for a rock sticking out. I let go with my other hand and reached to her. I felt flesh! I had her hand but she would not grasp mine. I told her to grab my hand and climb up. She was scared. I was terrified. My foot was sore, and my hands were raw. She looked up at me and right into me. She pleaded to me with her eyes, her pretty blue eyes. I yelled at her to grab my hand. She was startled by my tone and just reached up and grabbed it. Her other hand took the weight for a second and the bush she was holding ripped out of the ground. She hung there, grabbing my hand. Her hands were sweaty but I knew we were almost there. I said to climb up as I couldn’t pull her up. She tried but there was no way. I looked across the quarry to see of anyone was there. The sun was beginning to set and an eerie glow made the sky look purple. I looked down again. I told her I couldn’t pull her up she was going to have to climb. She started to cry and said she couldn’t. She never asked where my friends were. I guess she knew they were gone. She looked at me and said, “Don’t let go.” I told her I wouldn’t. Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go. Over and over, pleading me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to save her now and I doubted if I could get back up myself. I told her if she couldn’t climb up we would both die. My arm was screaming. My foot was in agony but I didn’t let go. Don’t let go she said, don’t let go. I promised I wouldn’t let go, I wouldn’t leave her.
My arm was numb and I felt my fingers loosen, or was it hers. I couldn’t tell. She looked up again as she had buried her face in the dirt. She said don’t let go, I won’t I said, I won’t. Save yourself, who said that? Don’t let go, and her hand slipped from mine. I watched her fall. It took a long time. Oddly, she stared at me the whole time. My eyes welled up with tears so I didn’t see her hit. I blinked and my tears fell down to meet her. She looked like a rag doll. All crumpled up. Her life was gone I could see it, feel it. Her dressed looked like it was on fire in the setting sun. I stared for an eternity.
Then my foot woke me up to the fact I was in trouble. But without her weight I was in no danger of falling. But I couldn’t get up. But I had to. I’m not sure how but I pushed myself up the side backwards. Pushing and straining till I saw the fence out of the corner of my eye. I was up top again. I put my head down and rested.
When I rolled over I was in pain. My arm felt like it had been ripped from its socket. I sat up and saw my bike lying there. I got up and walked to it. I would go get help. Then it hit me, I’ve killed somebody. I killed her. I pushed her over the edge and killed her. But I tried to save her, but you pushed her. I stood and looked at the horizon then turned and looked across the quarry. No sounds at all. The dirt bikers weren’t her today, no one saw me. Could I? I had to. I had to save myself, she said that. I grabbed the branch that George used in a fevered rush. I swept the area. I saw her bike; I dragged it across the ground and pushed it over. I hoped it didn’t hit her. It would look like an accident. She was going too fast and she went over. I looked around all was okay. It would be okay if my bike tracks were here, you couldn’t see her from here and my tracks might have put there before hers. I got on my bike and started to ride.

This is so messed up! How did it go so wrong? We were just going to mess around with her. Now I am so terrified I’ve wet myself. What the hell were we thinking! Okay, I’m panicking, I realize that. Okay, just try to stay calm. I have to go home and make it look natural. I can’t go home like this. I’m a mess and I’ve been crying. I have got to get it together. I can’t stop thinking about it. This can’t be real. Oh shit. What have we done? I keep going over it. Okay, one last time. What could I have done differently? Nothing, everything. Ah, hell.

I stopped at the creek under the bridge, close to where Steven had tossed my bike in last summer. I washed my face and cleaned my hands. I bushed myself off and tucked myself in. I looked at my reflection and I looked okay. My pee had dried on my pants on the way home. I smelled but it didn’t looked like I wet myself. I rode the short distance home. I walked in and Mom asked if I had dinner. I said I ate at Steven’s. That was not unusual. I said I was going to bed. That brought Mom out of the kitchen. She looked at me funny. She asked what was wrong; I looked like I had been crying. I said no. She gave me the Mom look. I said that Steven and I had a fight and I was going to have a bath and go to bed. She looked concerned but my Dad called to her to get him another beer. She turned around to answer and I was gone up the stairs. I don’t remember much that night, except I didn’t sleep much. When I did, I awoke with a start. It was only in the early morning that it hit me. Someone was out looking for their daughter and was worried sick. I wanted to die.

It was in the papers the next evening and I read the story as I did my route. They called it an accident. A girl named Stacey on her new bike that her dad bought for her on her birthday ran off the path in the failing light to her death.

I saw Steven that evening as I was finishing off my route. He rode over. I asked if he heard. He said no, and then warned me to keep my mouth shut. I said I would. I was scared of him. He was scared which made me scared. He said he talked to George and Mario and they were both going to do the same. I never told him I tried to save her. He never asked if I was the one who threw the bike down. But I’m sure they figured it out.

It was never the same after that. We never hung out much that summer or ever again. Mario moved away the next summer. Steven went to a vocational school after he nearly flunked. George and I went right through high school together but I was in a different program than him so I never talked to him. Not that we wanted to. We all made new friends and moved on. I’m not sure if the others wake up at night sweating as I do. They were not the ones who pushed her, but they were there and they helped in a way. But they don’t have a voice in their head that asks them not to let go. I have never let go since, to anyone or anything. I wrap myself in people and hold onto them. But I am dead inside and my smile never reaches my eyes. I will be punished for my crime for eternity. I will live to be an old man, alone after people have let go of me. That is my punishment. Fitting, isn’t it?

In the last month I have found myself not enjoying life.
If you knew me, you'd be worried.
I always enjoy what I am doing while I am doing it. And I'll do almost anything.
This is why you will find no details of who I am on this Blog. You don't need to know.
The only thing you need to know is what is written here.

On Sunday I took a ride on my bike. Not a bicycle, those are for people who want to get tired.
My bike is a 1984 Honda Interceptor. I'll post a picture if I remember.
I went for a short ride.
But somehow I arrived back home two hours and forty minutes after I left.
I had done well over 200 kilometers.
Where had the time gone and where did I go?
It was like being stuck in an episode (bad one) of Star Trek.
I have a GPS, I downloaded the data. I went through several counties, mostly dirt roads.
But I do not remember a damned thing.
It was cold, windy and bright. The scenery was no doubt pretty.
So where was my mind?
And why did my memory not record?

Three weeks ago, the last time I was on the bike, I had a much different experience.
The smells, sounds and sights sent me jolting back to other times and places in my life.
Yes, like yet another bad episode of Star Trek.
But it wasn't "like" I was there. I was there. Physically. Mentally.
It was disturbing.
Disturbing because while I was back in BC, riding my old bike, through the Frasure Valley.
I could look forward and see where I am now.
I existed in two places at once.
And I did not like what I said to my future self.
Have I changed so much?

When I ride, it always brings me closer to God.
It is just me and Him, the bike and the land.
I could talk to Him, and I would listen to Him speak to me with the road.
I have not spoken to Him in quite a while.
I am sure He is trying to talk to me. But I have seemed to have lost the ability to listen.
Perhaps I will not like what He has to say.
Perhaps I know what He is going to say.
Perhaps I do not want to hear.
At this point I am only just keeping it together, though sheer force of will.
His will, for I really think he is carrying me.
I know this, because I do not have this much strength in me.

It is getting cold out now.
Perhaps one more weekend to ride.
In a few weeks there will be leaves and rain and wind.
Riding in that is asking for a trip to the hospital, if they find me.
Riding in that used to be a challenge, or a cue to head south.
Now I shall have to make a decision.
Do I go out, and if I do, will I listen?
Or fade into the scenery.

There is something cohesive about it all.
I have stripped that bike down to its bare skeleton, and built it back up.
I know where each bolt goes, what each sound is.
When it vibrates at a certain RPM I know it is the natural harmonics of the V4.
I know how fast I can take the corner, how quickly I can brake.
I know all these things as you can only know a bike you have spent great amounts of time on.
I love the sound when I open it wide open and accelerate full throttle.
As much as I love the sound of cruising at 80 in 5th at four thousand RPM.

One last ride then.
To ask the question I don't want to ask.
To hear the answer I already know.
This is going to be hard.
I am going to have to become what I need to be.
Not what I want to be.
In those days I was Lupus Solitarum.
The Lone Wolf.
I no longer walk alone.

Maybe yesterday was my last great walk.
The last great ride.
Perhaps, after all that, I have become a pack animal after all.
And is that so bad?

I'm not sure when but at some point someone set the dial to fast forward.

Yesterday Adele turned three. WHAT! Last week she was born and the week before that I got married.

I shake my head to think that I have been working at my current job for over four years. My previous record was eight months.

Now I intuitively understand that having a familiy changes your priorities but I never though it would happen to me. Not that regret a single moment of anything, not that I would change a single decision. I just wish it would slow down a bit so I could enjoy it more.

I seem to be play with Eden and Adele in little 10 minute chunks. Stuffed between getting up, dressed, fed and to daycare and getting from daycare, fed and to bed. I impose my world order on them. Why do we have to rush off, why can't we go to the park. I would love nothing better than go to the park, than work, clean, fix, visit and sleep. But that is life. I don't even mind the extra burden of my wife going back to work. We have to sacrifice if the girls are to get any kind of financial help from us when they need it. Perhaps they will make a better go of it than I have, professionally speaking.

Last week when I took the bike out for a test ride after adjusting the valves I had a Twilight Zone moment. For a minute I was back in the Frasure Valley, no job, no money no responibilities. Throwing the bike into corners and sorting it out on the way out, Jaques Villeneuve style. Was a nostalgic? Hell yes. Did I want wish to go back to those days? Absolutely. It was only in the quite of the night lying awake did I remember the crushing lonliness, the fear of an uncertain future and quiet creeping of death as I continued to say yes to ever more dangerous activities.

So was I ready for my African Experience? You are never sure until you are in the moment and I was only very sure when I stood on the shore in Port Elizabeth at sunset, standing on ground that a glacier has never touched! This land was so foreign, yet so familiar. I was a white, first world male visiting a black, 3rd world nation. I could not have been more out of place. But there was the feeling, that aching feeling of belonging. Here was the family I never knew, yet understood completely. And more importantly, understood me completely. So was I ready? Yes and no but one thing is for certain. When I got home I realized I was forever changed.

It was from that certainty that my confidence and direction stemmed from. Its amazing that you will know where you are going, if you know who you are. In fact its quite easy. I went from believing that I would not make it to 30 let alone have a family. Now here I am....

So where am I? I am devoting my whole self to three tasks. Raising two girls, being a husband and working hard at my job. I try to balance these three but fail miserably constantly. At least one and usually two of those suffer as I focus too much on one aspect. And what of friends and other family? They usually get the scaps of time in between everything else which is not enough and not fair.

And I go back to Africa. And I see my life through their eyes and they are laughing at me! I know they are because they work on africa time, there will always be time. And they are right. But I am plunging down a river of rapids with no boat let alone a paddle. How am I supposed to work in african time? And I am not alone, and that is sad. Where are we all going? And why? In the end we look at africa and say what a poor backwards unevolved place it is. But what if they are right and we are wrong? I think we might be, I really do.

Elephants

I wrote this shortly after returning from Africa in 1999.

It was hot and dusty. The wave of heat blasted me as I stepped from the car. The air conditioning was deceptive. It made the African plains seems almost hospitable. But as I walked from the car to the edge of the small hill the sun beat down on me sapping my strength. I peered into the heat haze that blanketed the entire area. My uncle was positive we would see the elephants here. He was a man on a mission. He would find the bachelor group and I would see them. I felt the sweat break out on my forehead. As I raised my small pair of binoculars to my face my uncle grabbed my arm and turned me to the west. “There”, he said, “right by the water hole.”
The four elephants were indeed by the water hole, three good sized males and a huge male with a straight tusk. I was dumbfounded. We were miles away from them and they looked huge. As they wandered around the vicinity of the water stopping to drink or to blow dust on themselves I was struck by how graceful they were. These were massive six ton animals, the largest land animal. Yet with the grace that most ballerinas lack they eased their massive bodies around. They looked so serene I didn’t want to go closer to see them. I wanted to let them be. But my uncle piled us into the car and we drove with breakneck speed down the hill. We passed all kinds of wildlife on either side of us, monkeys, buck, and birds. But we wanted to see the elephants.
We came upon the watering hole and the bachelors eyed us with weary acceptance and then proceeded to ignore us. The largest male was just standing there, his trunk draped over his one long straight tusk. He eyed the other males. The other males moved about aimlessly. The smallest went for a drink. He eased himself onto his knees and extended his trunk to the water. I swear I could see the water level go down as he drank. He then removed his trunk for the water and placed it in his mouth. Most of it ended up on the ground at his feet in puddles that quickly seeped back into the parched soil. He small male then tried to get back on his feet again. A bit of the magic of the beast was destroyed then. He was so clumsy. He looked in our direction embarrassingly as if to say sorry for spoiling our image of elephants. As he hobbled up the other elephants came towards him. They sidled alongside and began to rub against him. The largest male stood in front of him and they began a pushing match. The match was over very quickly as the small male capitulated. The big males then stood in a circle in front of the watering hole as if guarding it.

It was then that the warthog family came by. My Uncle had turned the car off and was snapping pictures furiously. The grunting and snorting caught our attention. We turned our gaze and a mother with her three piglets passed ten feet in front of the car. They made their way to watering hole and passed right between the male elephants to gain access to the water. The males did their best to ignore them.

Then another car pulled up behind us, and the magic was broken. Before it was a private show, just the elephants and us, sharing an African afternoon. Now it was a zoo. People were staring and the fences that were a mile to the north revealed themselves for what they were, a really large cage. I loved seeing those elephants but a sharp tinge of guilt went through me when I realize that we nearly killed them off and to save them we have to put them in jail. Maybe their graceful movements were not borne out of peace but out of resignation over their life sentence for crimes they did not commit.

Suffering in Self Imposed Exile

Wrote this one while camping in White Lake Ontario in September...

The one thing that has always annoyed me about the mornings is that it is light; lighter than dark I mean. At least the dark hides most of the things I don’t want to see. The other thing is that it is always colder than when I went to bed. Not quite sure what the deal is there. Mostly the thing about mornings that I hate is that I am not sleeping. Sleeping has become a commodity to be traded like gold and wheat. Maybe I should set up a sleep trading board. You know, take sleep from people who don’t need it, people who are unemployed or retired and sell it to people who need it, high powered CEO’s and people like myself who insist on going to be hours after the sun has gone down but insist on waking up with it. Now I say insist but really it is my body that is insisting. My brain would much rather be sleeping ‘til noon but the old bod says with a blink of the eyes, you’re up, might as well get going.

Today I think I’ll start by shivering uncontrollably. Even though it is the same temperature as it was five minutes ago when I was sleeping comfortably, I am now freezing. Haven’t quite figured that one out either. I think it must be that my brain is occupied with dreams and not actually processing my temperature sensors. My new thought is to occupy my brain so I won’t feel the cold. I figure making breakfast is a good way to occupy my mind but I am distracted by the fact that I CAN’T MOVE MY HANDS

Mornings like this make you want to fill your lungs with air. Back when I was "Lupus Solitarum" (Lone Wolf for all you non-Latin types) I would crave days like these. It rained all day yesterday; hard rain, big rain, cold rain. It washed the earth clean. The roads are clean, the trees are green even the road signs are glowing.

When I was riding the rain never really bugged me. It did make me tired though. I had to be careful with a fully (read over) laden motorcycle. I had been caught out a few times when the heavy back end wanted to swap places with the front. So you really have to look ahead, plan the route, watch for cars, deer, potholes.
But I always knew that when the rain stopped and the sun came out it would be a great day.

I would get up early, five am and be out of the campsite an hour later. The next few hours, until the sun made the earth a sauna, were golden. I loved the mist that hung in the forests and the dripping of the rain from the leaves. I especially loved it when the wind stirred the leaves and a little rain shower would descend to the earth. Like my own private rain storm.

The trees and grass would be washed clean and stretching their limbs and blades to the sky. They would be so green it would hurt your eyes. The road was still damp with two dry lines running in each lane. The birds would be out singing their hearts out. These were the mornings to live for.

I would not even hear the bike or the tires on the asphalt. It would be like floating four feet from the ground the world rushing by in a mad green blur. There was always so much oxygen in the air you felt drugged by it. Every flower was infusing the air with it’s sent, a wild cacophony of perfume.

Today was like that, driving into work in my little, old car. But it was not the same. It was like belong reminded of a really great dream that you woke up from. I could remember every detail so clearly but knowing that it was not here, was not now. Boxed in my vehicle, bound by the clock, I knew the moment would not last the morning, just the 12.3 kilometers to the parking lot.

Am I glad I took those journeys, had those adventures? Yes. Am I resentful of my life and what it has become? No. But I do miss the morning when you want to fill your lungs with air and float along a ribbon of asphalt till the sun turned the Earth into a sauna, that’s all.

I wrote this in 1998 while stranded in New Mexico.....

Cigarette Paper

As it moves across the horizon it spews a beige cloud behind it. Unlike a passing storm, this cloud hangs in the air, lying still on the separation of earth and sky. It’s like a wedge trying to force them apart. In the heat haze it shimmers, trying to wriggle them apart. It’s a mile away but I can taste the fine silt on my tongue. It sticks, clings and makes mud in my mouth. The truck continues on the road creating and spewing out its wedge of dirt. The road travels on for miles, if it goes on long enough will it split the heavens from the earth? I hope so. Any relief from this place would make me a happy man.

The cloud on the horizon is the only cloud in sight. No rain, water or even mist can penetrate this ceaselessly arid place. It hangs, that cloud, the dirt, so pounded smashed, tilled, shoveled, graded so small it’s lighter than the air, it floats. No puff of breeze to wash that cloud away. Even the horizon is a victim of this place.

If you separate the foil from the paper backing from a pack of cigarettes and fold it just so, then light it, it flies away burning itself as it goes. It rises ever higher eating, consuming its own body to do so until there is just black flakes rising, separating, disintegrating. I wish this place would rise, separate and disintegrate. Heaven knows it’s thin enough. There is all kinds of heat to make it rise. I just need to separate the paper from the foil. Wishing for that cloud of dust to separate the earth from the sky so I can fold it up, light it up, and burn it into oblivion, just so I don’t have to be here anymore.

Y'know, of all the things I have done in my life (supid and otherwise). I would rather be a dad than anything else.
I find this strange as its very hard work and at times disgusting and menial. But it is also the most rewarding. I'd rather have a hug from my daughter than race a car.
That's it. I'll post more later.