Home (Nathan)

And I thought 500 miles was a big day. I rode 860 miles -- 1,384 kilometres -- yesterday. After nearly two weeks away, I wanted to see my wife, and figured if I rode hard enough, I could pull it off. It was a big day, though. Thirteen and a half hours of riding, including a few short breaks to keep me from falling asleep at the handlebar. The last half was anxiety-ridden, given that my bike has developed a third problem (1: it drinks oil; 2: it eats tires, and had bad ball bearings, which necessitated an emergency replacement en route). Now three: it produces an awful banging sound when accelerating at low speeds, which is replaced by a worrisome knocking at higher speeds. I'm sure it should not have been ridden in this condition, but I wanted to get home, and gritted my teeth.

Oh, and I found rain, too. It took quite literally 4,800 miles of riding, but I found rain. Luckily for me, it was a very light drizzle, and it lasted less than an hour. I didn't so much as get wet. Hats off to Brett for riding through the downpour, though.

Grand total for mileage ridden on the trip: 5,095 miles, or 8,200 kilometres. Add to that the 1,600 kms in the van, and I covered over 6,000 miles, or nearly 10,000 kilometres, in 13 days. I've done big road trips before, but this is a new record for me.

I will be submitting a travel article on this trip to the Globe and Mail, where I am a reporter. Here, however, is a rough preview of the ending, which I cobbled together after my arrival last night:

"So why do this? I found myself asking that question on the last day of the trip. I was nearing the end of a 1,400-kilometre day of riding, a seemingly endless march from Oregon home to Calgary. My shoulders were aching. My backside had passed pain into numb. My motorcycle, which I had bought with much excitement just weeks before the trip, had become an albatross. Still hours from home, and the oil reservoir was half-empty, thanks to the bike's unfortunate thirst. Worse, it had developed a horrible banging sound, and appeared to be ready to leave me stranded on the side of the road at any time.

 

It was, in short, a recipe for misery.

 

But then I looked around. I had crossed into Alberta, and the sun was setting, leaving the clouds and the Rockies, which lined the western horizon, doused in a dusty purple. The day's last light danced across the dun-coloured foothills. Cattle grazed. A fox dug for something in a ditch. The road stretched out before me, long and straight. I was alone, and could feel the chill of a crosswind blowing over a lake still partly frozen. It was familiar scenery, but seeing it from a motorcycle gave it a new intimacy. I couldn't quite suppress a thought: it would be nice if this didn't have to end."