THE EXPEDITION Chapter 2: Prologue (section 1)

Date: Early Spring 2019 Place: Calgary, Alberta

In which hardly anybody thinks it's a good idea....but prepping help comes from an unexpected quarter
 

Meanwhile, hardly anyone else thought it was a good idea, except Mr Myrtle, who was quite overdue for an epic walk. Previously, that meant anything over an hour, or in Jamaica it might’ve been all day. This would be a whole new version of ‘epic’.

Within the activist community where I was slowly getting my feet wet, those who knew of my disabilities didn’t think I could manage the walk, and were caringly concerned that I’d do myself irreparable damage trying. I’m already that damaged anyways, so that part didn’t matter to me. Me being marginally more comfortable for a little while just isn’t more important than an existential planetary crisis. This is what my admittedly odd (alright, unique) set of aptitudes, and my meditation, added up to for me. It felt right, and I was already committed.

Those who weren’t bothered about me personally, or who saw that as being besides the point, said the idea itself was silly. The initial temporary Canadian XR coordinator actively discouraged the whole idea as irresponsible and pointless before taking off on a several month long road trip vacation in a big gas-guzzling van. We both said things that weren’t very nice, and I told her I thought her trip was a lot more irresponsible and pointless than mine.

On the other hand, the friend I’ve known nearly all my life told me she had no doubt whatsoever that I could do it, but she didn’t believe there was any reason to. She, like most of my friends, didn’t believe in the immediacy or scale of the climate crisis, or in anyone’s ability or inclination to address it, or even that it existed. It was just another example of how weird I’d gotten, especially since I got too broken to care about trying to fit into all the boxes any more.

That all just made me more determined. Not determined to argue or say I told you so, but to make the point that yes, there is a reason… and that yes, ordinary people can do extraordinary things – and that’s the only real solution.

I kissed my sailboat dream goodbye as I packed. For years, I’d promised myself that someday, somehow, I’d find a perfect small old sailboat. A 25 foot Cape Dory, specifically, though there’s no such thing as a CD25 even remotely near my price range, and as far as I can tell, there never has been. I’d scrimped away the beginning of a very small small-old-sailboat-budget, from my very small pension approval back-payment. It was so meagre it was more symbolic than financial – not even enough for a half decent toy boat, to tell the truth – just enough to constitute an idea and keep me believing. But how could I sail off happily into a wild blue yonder that I didn’t even try to save? So I used it for this expedition.

Two days before I left the city, the universe sent me a brand new Tilley hat for six dollars at a secondhand store I hadn’t intended to stop at. Tilleys are the quintessential sailing hat, so I took it as a sign that somehow, there is a future with sailable oceans, and a sailboat for Mr Myrtle and I. I said thank you to the universe and wore it most of the way to Ottawa, and I’m still wearing it (well, not so much in winter, need a toque then here!).

My plan was a bit too basic for most people’s comfort. I’d leave on April 20th, because that coincided with a worldwide week of Extinction Rebellion action. It wouldn’t get much below freezing at night; we’d be well-bundled then. Days would be 5 or maybe 10 degrees for a couple weeks, but walking would keep us warm. Real spring would be just around the corner, and I’d be a little further south and into Saskatchewan by then. Judging by maps and local advice, there’d be enough decent possibilities for places to stay or camp that I wasn’t worried about that part.

I’d follow the Trans-Canada highway from Calgary to Ottawa, finding places to camp or stay, figuring the next bits out along the way, and try not to get lost or dead. I’d talk to as many people as possible, and with local media whenever possible. My supply list was maybe 12 items long and there was almost three months to pack.

Then the young survivalist dudes down the road got involved.

My aforementioned basement apartment was in a somewhat questionable neighbourhoods in the middle of the city, across the river from downtown, though as far as Mr Myrtle and I were concerned, downtown was too close and the river wasn’t close enough. When the meth-heads in the apartment on the other side of my rather thin wall decided to hold me responsible for the whole area’s police complaints, I borrowed the survivalist dudes’ spare room for a few weeks while my landlord managed to get rid of the meth-heads. We’d met on dog walks, I didn’t know anyone else to ask except the couple upstairs (which wasn’t nearly far enough away from the meth-heads), and my disability pension had zero budget for getting a room.

It turned out there was a lot of practical stuff I hadn’t thought of and would need. Also, a lot of stuff would have to be ordered. Ordering online is another thing I can rarely get to work right, and I don’t get any practice because I hate the whole concept of shipping stuff all over the place, and particularly hate Amazon. The boys weren’t exactly on board with the whole climate crisis idea, but they did have a great time helping to outfit the expedition, and helped with the ordering of stuff. They threw some wrenches in the works towards the end when they got miffed about other things, and some orders and whatnot went cattywompus, but nothing crucial got broken except trust, and that hadn’t really been there anyways.

They also helped dream up the scooter idea, to help me walk and carry gear. My neck, back, and shoulders are basically wrecked, along with other problems. I can’t carry a backpack any more, certainly not anything with enough gear for this kind of trip. I can’t ride a bicycle, either. Can’t pull a wagon. Driving was out of the question, and I never got my license anyways (the world doesn’t need another car, and doesn’t need me in particular driving one)… but – can’t not bring stuff.

We brainstormed and came up the idea of a kickbike – an adult-sized foot scooter. I managed to find one that was built in a way that would allow me to hitch up a small dog trailer, and then found a good solid dog trailer that even has roof racks! A local bike shop got the Toucan scooter in and assembled it for me, and gave me a bright blue bell to clip onto it. It’s even got front wheel suspension, and disc brakes (the scooter, not the bell).

The Dutch Dog Doggyride trailer is made by a small company in Oregon who loved what I was doing –the owner knocked himself out to get it to Calgary in time, and continued to help long-distance-ly with repairs, advice, and by sending parts. It’s the only steel frame dog trailer with roof racks and it thoroughly outperformed both its makers expectations and my own by a long shot. We’re even still using it.

Mr Myrtle and I zoomed (slowly) around our neighbourhood on sidewalks and bike paths, to get used to our little caravan. It’s great for going shopping, or just going for the fun of it. Mr Myrtle took a few tries to get used to both running beside and riding, but got to like it pretty quickly. When he’s in the trailer, he sits on his little dogbed with his ‘seatbelt’ on, and sticks his head out the top window grinning at everyone.

The trailer would be half full of gear, with space for Mr Myrtle in the front half (he’s not very big, and curls up quite small). The roof racks helped hold things I’d need to reach easily like water and jackets for both of us, and the tent.

#Doggyridetrailer #ToucanScooter