THE EXPEDITION Chapter 16: Food, Feet, Friends (Section 2)

In which Ann meets Rich the Vegan....and the problem of northwest Ontario becomes ever more ominous 

Date: June 12 2019

Wapella to Moosomin 27 km

We had more stories to meet later that day. Rich the Vegan would cross paths with us in Moosomin. We’d talked a bit in messages but had been mostly saving it till we met.

On the way, I passed a wind farm. It constantly astounds me that we do not take advantage of all the incredible amount of wind across this country. In fact, this country has tremendous potential for various kinds of alternate energy. It would be far more efficient, financially and ecologically, than oil and gas culture ever could have been. Yet it’s still so rare to see solar panels or wind turbines that they’re a noteworthy oddity. Large signs pronounce their proximity and people (including me) stop to take pictures. The pictures don’t capture the immense size at all, though, even when you can manage to get a vehicle to conveniently photobomb your shot for perspective.

Wind turbines have their ups and downs. Someone was developing bladeless ones that were flipping brilliant – less threat to birds and bugs and animals, but awesome power generation, and with less materials and cost and carbon footprint to produce and maintain. I’ve lost track of whether they made it to production, and I’m not an engineer, but I really hope those happen.

Meanwhile, lots of people were very proud of the sixteen turbines powering Moosomin, and rightly so. But sixteen is not a “good start”, as they say and as we’re supposed to be satisfied with. Add a couple zeroes – that’d be a good start. Canada should already be a leading example of how to face the climate crisis and how to shift an energy industry and a population’s habits. We really do have so much potential it’s absolutely crazy… sixteen wind turbines isn’t a good start, it’s not even lip service. It’s a placation, a bone tossed to shut up the whiners for a little while. We need more, and better, and it’s already too late in many ways.

I ruminated and percolated like that for much too long, and Mr Myrtle patiently listened to my rants. Between that and reflecting on Dylan’s concerns, I managed to work myself into a pretty negative state by the time we met up with Rich, who is one of the nicest and most positive human beings I met on this trip and ever. I tried to be in a good mood, and I really was awfully happy to meet him.

Image from Rich’s Facebook page

He wasn’t yet when we met, but Rich is now the first person to cross Canada on a scooter – no small feat! And this isn’t Rich’s first long distance scooter trip, though it’s by far the longest. He’s crossed Korea the same way, on a smaller scooter. That trip, like this one, was also for animal rights. Within Korea, he was raising awareness of their rights, and raising awareness elsewhere about their lack of rights in Korea. He was also raising funds to rescue Korean dogs from the meat trade.

He and his wife spend their lives saving and caring for animals. They put everything they have into that. They’ve now been able to open a rural animal sanctuary where they can keep making the world a better place for furry folks of all sorts and sizes, as well as to keep working on making it a better place for all animals. They are such sweet people.

I’m not going to try to make everyone be entirely vegan, but I know two things. I’m a lot healthier when I’m vegan, and the planet would immeasurably healthier if we all ate a whole lot more real and plant-based foods.

Meat’s not a very nutritionally efficient food for most human body types, and the meat industry has been wreaking ecological havoc for decades. Western culture revolves around meat, and largely processed meat, as well as its byproducts, as a main focus for food as well as entertainment. For many, breakfast includes bacon and sausages (if not in reality, in wish), and lunch includes more meat. In the evenings, we barbecue all year, and go out for pizzas or burgers, and an expensive steakhouse is considered prime celebration. Even dessert labels often include gelatin as an ingredient. That’s a far cry from the age-old respectful practices of entire-consumption on an irregular basis, accompanied by prayer, and where nothing is wasted, as indigenous peoples incorporate meats into their diets. That way of living with animals didn’t drive them to extinction. It didn’t devour the planet.

We had veggie burgers at A&W. In some ways, those things are at least as bad for you as the meat burgers, but at least they’re not meat. Also, A&W was always so good to Mr Myrtle and I. The one in Moosomin was especially nice to us. They even did a training session the next day with their staff regarding service and support dogs, with Mr Myrtle (and I) as the guest speaker and star of the interactive presentation. He did very well, and they gave him egg patties formerly intended for breakfast sandwich middles.

We talked and talked, and then went to find somewhere to stay. I’d been going to camp at the truckstop, but it was small and dirty and currently full of trucks taking distraught pigs to their doom. Rich had done a heartwrenching video there earlier and wouldn’t go back, and I changed my mind. The pigs probably would have appreciated the company but I’d have cried too much – or gotten in trouble for cussing out the drivers, who don’t really get to choose which cargoes pay their bills.

Rich had already looked up a cheap motel right near the highway, though, and seeing as they’d be able to rent out two rooms instead of none, plus we were both on admirable missions, he was pretty sure he could get us a deal.

The folks who run the Twi-Lite Motel are awfully nice, they really are. They gave us both rooms, mine with even enough space for Mr Myrtle to run around. They made sure we were comfy and warm and fed, and that our gear and scooters were safe. They helped me lock up our caravan around back of the building just to be sure, because it wouldn’t fit inside.

Inside is worth taking care of. The place is as old as the spelling of its name implies, and the décor is probably largely original. At various points, rooms have been split or merged, or converted to and from housekeeping potential. As a result, they’ve got very interesting floor plans and quirks, like hallways that no longer go to what isn’t part of the room any more, lamps in closets, and a fridge on the way into the bathroom. The rooms are complimented by a fantastic collection of large black velvet paintings. There’s several of them, and they’re actually very well painted. The collection incorporates a good variety of subject matter appropriate to the style – landscapes, a sunset, a Depp-worthy pirate ship, and – of course – Elvis. They ought to charge admission. If the halls had been less narrow, I could have photographed more of them, but at least I got the one with the ship!

Rich and I talked quite late. It was fun comparing the merits and drawbacks of our vehicles and gear. I’ve never met anyone else who took scooters seriously – they really are quite brilliant inventions. We talked about shoes. I was wearing my hikers; Rich, with his speedy scooter and itinerary, was wearing shoes meant more for marathons or something. They were lightweight and flexible, enabling him to zoom along quite well. They wore out relatively quickly though. The reason we didn’t meet up sooner was because he’d gotten hung up in Regina trying to find the right sort of replacement shoes to continue from there. It was his third or fourth pair and he expected to go through a few more. I couldn’t zoom anyways and needed the support and sturdy stability of the hiking boots, and as I was walking more than scooting, they worked better.

Rich was keeping pace with the cyclists. Except for hills, I found my caravan carried itself better if I walked beside it. Otherwise, when I hop on the scooter, I’m scooting my weight plus all the load. If I get it started, then the continuous momentum mostly keeps it going, with intermittent encouragement.

Rich had had time to adapt bicycle packs for his contraption. He had large pannier packs on either side of the full sized front wheel, and another pack on top of those. He’d also modified a rat trap and a set of smaller panniers to sit above the small back wheel. I’d tried to do the same but hadn’t gotten it secure enough, so I dropped the idea. Now I wish I’d taken some pictures, but I’m sure someone can help me do something similar on Sam someday.

We went over maps, and I noted all I could recall for advice for him. Like Dylan, he passed on all sorts of valuable notes and advice to me. Also like Dylan, he worried tremendously about Mr Myrtle and I in northwestern Ontario, and had plenty of good reason. He even went through all of his photographs and videos from that whole chunk of his journey, so I could see exactly what was coming.

You’d think the capital province would have the best roads in the country. Not so. Maybe folks aren’t supposed to visit, or something. I hope to see that day when we have no more oil and gas powered roads, but it would be good if others could still use the roads, and in the meantime, it’d be nice to keep people from getting squashed. The divided highway stops when it enters Ontario and the Trans Canada goes down to one lane each way. Well, it’s supposed to be one lane each way. Really, though, there’s no shoulder, and the edges of the roadway itself are crumbling. In places, there’s almost a foot of road missing for several feet. That may not sound significant, but if there’s barely enough inches for two semi tucks to pass each other on the intact parts of the road, then the math gets disturbing if you subtract a foot of viable road. It gets even more disturbing if you add a three foot wide trailer.

You can’t go a day’s walking distance without at least two stretches of at least 100 yards where there isn’t even a roadside at all. There’s less than foot between the edge of the driving surface and a sheer rock wall, or an absolutely vertical drop-off, or a guardrail with one of those immediately beside it. At least half these spots are on a bend in the road, or a hill, or both, so there’s no way to see traffic coming or for them to see you. There’s no way to go around – there is no around.

Rich had videos of the walls of truck containers whizzing past his nose as he flattened himself against a rock wall.

A lot of the rest of the time, there’s about a foot or two for nonvehicular traffic. It’s gravel and weeds, and usually part of a ditch. There are also many parts that are wide enough, but the in between parts make that besides the point.

Cyclists are narrower, with no trailer and no need to walk beside their contraption. They’re also considerably faster than Mr Myrtle and I. We can do 20 – 40 kilometres a day. They can do a hundred and up. Some even do two hundred. They zip through the iffy bits quick, and then they’re safe. What takes them a couple fast minutes to get through takes us fifteen minutes or so, and that’s plenty long enough to get squashed or cause a massive highway accident.

There was also the wolves; Rich hadn’t met them, but he’d heard them and heard about them. Wolves have their own lives and their own lands. Humans haven’t left them with much of either, though, so they’re doing what they have to do. They’re coming into our world… reminding us that it is not ours.

June 13 2019 Moosomin

Rich headed east in the morning. Mr Myrtle and I sent him off with a hug and puppyslurps, and I promised to think things through, to keep us both safe, and not be stubborn or stupid – most specifically in regards to northwestern Ontario.

Photo by Rich Adams, from Rich’s Facebook page

In the spirit of not being stupid, I was staying another night with Mr Myrtle, to get more sleep and let my poor bod have a break. I also wanted to process the excellent advice of the past couple days, and plan the next few. Excluding any guerilla camping or quasi-guerrilla camping meant not flying by the seat of my pants (I hate pants but do like that kind of planning). It meant getting where we had to each day, and that meant more planning. Planning meant inordinate amounts of time fighting with my phone and the internet, and even if I spent ages longer than made any sense, I’d still usually enlist help. Even then, everyone knows the saying about the best-laid plans… it’s a cliché for a reason.

The A&W folks let me spend most of the day on their patio using free internet and talking with customers. I did get some very useful advice from a few folks, one of whom also offered a place to camp in return for giving his wife a hand with the garden; kind as he was and lovely as it would have been, it was much too close. Murray and I stayed in touch a while, though. He drives for a living, so he did have a lot of words of wisdom about upcoming chunks of the trip.

Lots of people passed us by, lots stopped, and I got to have a whole lot of really good conversations about the climate crisis, along with some more signatures on the petition. Mr Myrtle got all sorts of attention and admiration (and also some french fries and chicken-fruit).

We went back to the Twi-lite. When I’d intended to check out and move us to the now-hopefully-quieter truckstop, the owner had decided he could give us another discount… just a little… or maybe more… and then he’d just given us the night, and his best wishes, and that was so sweet of him. Later, his daughter brought us a whole big plate full of lovely good home made dinner, and dessert. There was enough that we’d have lunch the next day, too. She also gave me a good warm, lightweight, breathable, and very visible jacket, as well a a few other good warm things and practical things. People make me cry with frustration sometimes, but that’s more than balanced out by all the times like this when I cry because I have no words for how good people are.

#WalktoWakentheNationexpeditionbook