THE EXPEDITION Chapter 19: Winnipeg…. (Section One)

In which the Expedition is dealt a serious setback 

Date: June 28 to mid July, 2019

Winnipeg

Winnipeg was where I’d have to stop long enough to figure out next steps.

I knew from talking with Rich and Dylan, and a multitude of cyclists and others, that it would be downright stupid and irresponsible for me to try to take my tiny caravan through northwestern Ontario. As of the provincial border, there’d be maybe a foot of shoulder if I was lucky – usually less, or none at all. I’d seen their photos and videos, and I’d crawled along sections on google maps, which though old and marginally less discouraging were still pretty bad. Basically, you can’t go a day’s walking distance without at least one stretch of a hundred yards or more where there is quite literally no shoulder whatsoever… just a sheer rock cut, or a vertical dropoff.

Along much of the highway there, the edges of the road are deteriorating and crumbling away so much that not only is the meagre shoulder gone, so is several inches of roadway.

The single lane in each direction is narrow enough without that; there are many parts where the big rigs can barely pass each other. There’s a lot of twists and curves with minimal visibility of what’s coming towards you. The cyclists are fast, and very narrow – they zoom through and pray. I’m slow, and hauling a two foot wide dog trailer. There’s mathematically not enough room for two trucks to pass each other AND me.

There’s also stretches that it would take me days and days to pass through, where there is absolutely nothing. No gas station, campground, village, pit stop, nothing. That requires stealth camping, and if that hadn’t gone well with the coyotes in Saskatchewan, it’d probably be worse with northwestern Ontario coyotes… and bears, and wolves. A few of the cyclists had seen wolf packs coming out to the highway. We’ve so thoroughly invaded and destroyed their homes and hunting grounds and the patterns they live by that they are forced to return the favour to try to feed themselves and their families.

I respect that, and I hate that we’ve done that, but I didn’t fancy waking up to be breakfast.

I hadn’t checked all the possible routes and possible ways of continuing.

For four days at Jenn’s home, I crawled along the entire route on google maps. Everyone was undeniably correct. I traced all the other roads through there and in my mapbook. I spent hours on the phone with people who knew the area and who’d been following the journey on facebook. There really wasn’t a viable route.

The train goes through… but I’d have to go to either Sudbury or Ottawa, with barely a whistlestop between, and no opportunities for talking with people along the way in towns, or news interviews, or really anything. I also hated the idea of simply zooming there, on a big smelly train careening along skinny little rails. Public transportation is good but personally, trains discombobulate me. I like walking. But that wasn’t happening.

I was looking into ridesharing. Someone in Ottawa offered to drive, but that got muddled up. An electric car rental company offered a car, but I don’t drive and couldn’t find someone who who’d be able to. A friend in the US was concocting a crazy scheme with another friend, which involved one teaching the other how to convert his truck to veggie oil so he could come get me and drive that piece of the journey, but that would’ve called for a whole barrel of genies, nevermind a bottle with one.

A tailor around the corner fixed Mr Myrtle’s trailer; the front zipper for getting in and out – and staying in – had ceased zipping and I’d been safety pinning it. I thought I’d be leaving in a few days, so she rushed the job, but still put in a good, strong, well-set zipper that’s still keeping my puppyfish safe.

The scooter was having trouble too. The brakes weren’t working right, and it turned out there was some repairs to do there as well as straightening the front wheel – that had been wonky for a while, and I think it probably been ever since the big rig incident back in Alberta, but had gotten worse lately.

They got Samantha (the scooter, because the model is called a Toucan, and I hate fruit loops but couldn’t not call her Sam) shipshape in record time, at no charge because of what I was doing, and several of them signed the petition. I also stocked up on some of those bars that are so handy for good nutrition on the road, and these effervescent electrolyte tablets for putting in water… but if you just suck on them, they’re like healthy Pop Rocks for grown ups. Nice for feeling better when you don’t think you can go on and have to anyways.

A reporter from one of the local news broadcasters did an interview with me there at Jenn’s home… they put so much time and care into it, but then after the long range summer forecast, a chirpy young woman segued into what had become a tiny community interest story by saying “and now, speaking of weather…”.

A second reporter from another station met Jenn and I for a longer interview with both of us at a nearby park by the river. Jenn speaks well, and talked about the same issues with more focus on local activism. This reporter managed to keep more of the content off the cutting room floor, and that was aired during the newsier part of the show.

Meanwhile, Jenn’s family is sweet and so is their home, but they lived in an awfully small house, and no matter how well we got along and how much there was to talk about, I hadn’t meant to stay so long already.

Karla lived on the other side of the river, in an attic apartment atop three stories full of stories. It’s on Lenore Street, the most interesting of a whole row of old houses and gnarled trees and hedges Poe would have approved of. We’d talked online much, and on the phone, and were looking forward to spending a bunch of time together.

We stowed most of my things in the locked basement tenants-only laundry room, because Karla’s was funky and comfortable, but pretty short on storage space and space in general.

That night another tenant in the building stole everything.

We talked with all the other tenants the next day, except one, who wasn’t around. She was an addict, and a prostitute, and had last been seen at the same time my things had last been seen.

The following morning I called to report the incident. Apparently I had to go do that in person, so Karla hopped on her bike to keep up with Mr Myrtle and I and our caravan (really, we had to keep up with her!). The very young officer who took my report was clearly bored out of his mind and didn’t bother hiding it. When I called back several days later to check, I was curtly told not to bother them. If anything turned up, they’d call me. No one ever did, and when I finally called from Ottawa, I was told the file must have been lost and couldn’t be re-opened after all this time.

Even my beautiful solar charging kit was gone. I’ve never been able to post a review on their website, because you have to have proof of purchase, and that was with the kit. Dear people who make that Voltaic Arc 20 setup – it really is the best thing like that out there and I loved it. Thank you. I’m sorry.

A very kind and anonymous eco-rebel sent a similar kit. I couldn’t have continued without that gift, and the encouragement it was wrapped in made even more difference.

Karla posted the tale of the theft everywhere she could. There were some donations, financial and material, and a local artist named Jan painted me a beautiful new sign (why on Earth my sign had been stolen, I cannot fathom).

Winters in Winnipeg are nasty, but summers are flipping hot. Cities feel hotter. We’re living on a planet in the throes of ecosystem collapse and climate crisis. It was at over 40 degrees, with full sun all day long, the day we were hauling ourselves around looking for the police station and then beginning the arduous and dauntingly expensive work of re-outfitting my expedition. By the time we were back near Karla’s neighbourhood, we were melting. We stopped for a drink on the shady patio of a local bar, and as I was parking the scooter and trailer, someone coming in wondered if there was a story around such an unusual contraption. She was so enthused, and kept asking questions, and wound up with the whole story up to and including the theft. That upset her quite a bit, and she went in to tell her friends everything.

The next thing we knew, the bartender there. She was in awe of our expedition, and shocked by the theft. “It’s been such a weird day!” she exclaimed, “Okay, this guy just came in here a little while ago carrying a tent. He was really pissed off, and he stomped in and threw down his tent, shouted ‘Damn tent’s no good!’ and left… we thought that was the weirdest thing ever, till you turned up–” and she handed me what appeared to be brand new bright green two person tent with a fly “–needing it!”

She was pretty sure I must have some astounding ethereal connections, but I thought the same of her and her bar.

We got back to Karla’s place to discover a donated sleeping bag.

Her partner brought me some basic bike tools in a tidy little kit, even including gloves and a rag and some oil. It turned out his parents had been the sympathetic couple in the parking lot back in Alberta where the raging man’s beleaguered wife had told him she cared more about their grandchildren than his selfishness. It’s such a small world, and such a mindblowingly good world. Rutger Bregman hadn’t yet published Humankind, but as I write this I’ll take advantage of the opportunity to ask anyone with doubts about what I just said to read that book. It will change your perspective, and your mind, and maybe even your life.

Karla invited me stay longer. There was a protest in a few days which we wanted to go to, so there were signs to make. We wanted to organize more events, and started planning those. I had my figuring out to do… and she had parents driving up to visit from near Toronto, whom she felt would be tickled pink to give Mr Myrtle and I a ride. They’d arrive in a couple weeks, and she figured having a roomie for a little while would be fun. I’d have time to rest, a way to go on, and she’d have a bit company, someone to help get some XR things going and help support other activist events. It sounded good all ’round.

We did have a really great couple weeks, theft notwithstanding. It was freeing to not worry, and to have time to recoup. Unfortunately and unexpectedly, Karla’s parents decided to bring their own dog for the trip, which meant MMS and I wouldn’t be able to travel with them. I was back to figuring out how to continue. My gracious host had family things happening, and it was time to go.

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