The long and short

Lost Innocence

Well as it stands now, I'm fully returned from my trip. So you need not worry about any plot twists concerning any variation of me dying in any number of ditches between Ontario and Newfoundland. Though I'm not going to start this with final words, I'm days behind in my writing because I was exercising time as best as I could and always was too tired to fiddle with a laptop when I parked at the end of the day. So this will be a recollection of many days all in one big burst of space. If you've already read this many pages of my work (god help you) then I wager you won't mind one more big one. Also, I've been spelling decide wrong. Maybe I'll go back and fix those? I'll flip a coin.

As it was when we left off I had just had seven and a half drinks before going to bed in my hotel room, watching a very poorly acted eastern soap opera for entertainment before I fell asleep. I woke up to weather that had no place any time in the forecast for days, and curse that I'm so hungover for it. It's nearly eleven when I finally get myself out, though I feel sick. I have a small breakfast and ask if the lady working the small shop can tell me anything about the length of Gros Morne for a day hike. She must have sized me up and found me wanting because she went on to say it's really dangerous and you'd need to leave the base by eight in the morning at least. I said "that sounds like a challenge!" aiming it at her and she said, "it is!" but she meant the mountain, then continuing on about the climb. Swing and a miss. The Gros Morne visitor centre fills me in more, there's another cute nice girl working here who's really helpful and I didn't reek this time. I found myself looking in her eyes too, god damn it, stop that. I hope I drop that when I leave the East. Arriving ten minutes later at the start of the trail I start packing a bunch of stuff before heading off.

The hangover does not bode well but I continue my fight against it. Dehydration and wooziness isn't a good combo for a exhausting hike, but I'm glad all my muscles have had time to grow back from the time on the Tablelands. The path leading to the mountain base is only a foot wide but well constructed, and the scenery is really nice. I'm breaking into the hike and out of my hangover as I grow closer but I still struggle. I reach the point of no return where it advises to turn back at this point if the last bit phased you in the slightest, and tries to dissuade you from the climb with hazard and possible death warnings painted all over the sign. I love it when signs do that.

The climb was less stressful than the Tablelands by far, but was slightly less exhilarating as I had a very odd standard set for myself because of it. There was a actual general path to climb here, people are commonly walking around here, and I have no reason to rush. From the bottom these climbs always look so damn easy. You look up the slope and think, yeah that looks like a twenty minute climb. The truth reveals itself quickly enough though I suppose. The view only got better the higher I climbed, though the weather that was supposed to rule the day stood unsure of itself in the distance as if it were an actor that had forgotten it's next line on stage. My shirt comes off because I'm absolutely drenched in my own sweat and it's just hot and windy enough for it to be comfortable. Something about the plain effort of all my muscles towards the task of climbing makes the time pass in no time at all. I even manage to catch up with a older couple that left the parking lot ten minutes sooner than I had. They're from Ontario too, Richard and Pat, around fifty eight years old. Man, I need to step up my game. Between odd rest stops that are different between our groups I stay a small bit behind them, still in no hurry. They pace faster across flatter parts, but I climb vertically faster. The mountain presents itself nicely before I'm on top, but the flatness once there eliminates most of the view. A rain cloud is drawing near, it will either hit directly as I'm on top of the mountain or barely graze it. Still I feel a great sense of accomplishment.

The walk goes down from here, I'm glad I did the path climbing the steep part first before the weather turned. Something I might not have done if that girl in the visitor centre hadn't recommended it. I have a small lunch and talk with the couple as I feast on beef jerky greedily. The one storm cloud grazed us, looks like we're in the clear for now. The walk continues and they get way further ahead because I stop every half minute to take pictures, and even run into a small family of Rock Ptarmigan barely off the path. They're sort of like wild mountain chickens would probably be the easiest way to describe them without you having to look. Continuing further down the trail the weather finally remembers it's role in the play and bursts out onto the stage, overly aware that it missed it's queue. I'm beyond far away from my vehicle but I pick up my pace in the rain. I pass the Ontario couple and wish them well if I don't catch them any time later, something about hard rain makes me want to run down the path. Water pools all over the small route, with few surfacing rocks standing as small pathways across. The rain and wind beats harder against my bare chest as I press further down the trail as the fastest safe pace I can strike. My glasses are tainted with all sorts of obstructions from the rain, mostly blocking all my vision except for most immediate rock pathways, which is all I need. My jeans and feet are completely drenched, I'm ridiculously far from my vehicle, the rain isn't showing any signs of letting up and I know that I should feel completely miserable right now. But as it rains harder still, and as the sound of lightning rumbles in the distance, I'm completely lost in the moment. I am halted at a time or another by catching up with other groups heading down the mountain but am soon let past. The rain settles briefly and I stop abruptly stop in my tracks in a small straight away as a young adult moose that hasn't grown it's horns fully stands in the middle of the path twenty feet ahead. What is with this province?

He was heading down the path the same direction I was and I stay where I am, not wanting to startle him. As always it's another moment when you almost want to ruin it by stopping and getting as many pictures or videos as you can, but I prefer the purity and don't want to throw it away. I think back to all the horror stories of how much they can fuck you up as well, taking care to consider that I'm a fair distance away. He looks at me briefly  and continues with a silent profoundness around the bend of the path and off the trail. I watch him sink into the brush and continue for a small bit before I come out into a smaller clearing and start taking a small breather. I'd been running down for a good while, and then I saw two other hikers down a further side of the path resting off trail and said hi between breaths. A small conversation about the turn of the weather happens and there's a small silence. My glasses have a mostly obscured vision and I have nothing dry to wipe them with. I can almost make them out but I'm not sure if I want to gamble with it. I'm about to ask when he beats me to the punch. "Are you Mike from the ferry?"

It's Dave and Maya from the ferry from four or five days ago, what in the hell are the odds in that?! As they were about to go up the steep path up the mountain it began to pour so they came this way instead and ran into me. We ask each other about our trips so far, each lamenting the continually poor weather. I call him Matt, because he looks like a Matt, hours later I feel like a dick when I remember his his actual name. Passing on the path I shake hands with him and his girlfriend, glad I could see them again. He says that he'll see me in Saint Johns and I say if we run into each other there we need to trade information or something because it's getting uncanny. Sure enough as they told me, there was what I'm assuming was a female adult moose and a young moose fifteen feet off the path slightly further down. What is with this province? I record of them a bit because the rain has stopped for the time but the group I passed far earlier has caught up between the three mooses and couple I stopped for on the way down. I continue down, hitting my same sequence as before as the rain comes down anew. Barring the rest of what was quite some time, I was at the base, and after the prior more maintained path leading to the base of the mountain was at the parking lot again. I let Richard and Pat's son know how far they probably are behind me, as it looks like he's been waiting awhile before I jump into dry clothes and head off.

The rain worsens, some of the hardest rain I've had driving before. At this point I can't help but feel horrible for Dave and Maya who are not only climbing the mountain in this but camping on top at a site they reserved. I come up the the outwardly poor looking restuarant shack where I got my hearty breakfast before and decide to eat there, hoping the rain dies down a bit. I have a moose burger platter and a beer. The moose is quite comparable to beef, but with something a bit more... Moosey? The beer is supposed to be made of the water from an iceberg or something, not sure how much I believe that, but it's not bad at all. I drive as far as I can without getting too tired while heading for my next hiking spot for tomorrow. My legs are aching but not in ruin like with the Tablelands, the weather continues to call for rain but each day clears for a small opening. Knowing this, I plan to be in  each area and waiting for the key time to do a hike. My clothes from the hike are wet and smelly and I have no way of drying them.

The next day I'm waiting in a small town in a Tim Hortons eating two breakfast sandwiches a doughnut and having a icecap waiting for the opening in the sky to come into existence, and it does. I need some directions for the next place as its less well known and a local resident walking down the side of the road is more than happy to give it to me and then some. I don't want to be rude but he keeps talking and traffic keeps swerving around me. This is only extended when he calls me "my love" (as newfies use in their sentences from time to time) before he caught himself and started apologizing and explaining its common use in the East and the lack of homosexual intention he had for me. Oh man. ANYWAYS, his directions were good and before I knew it I was heading down the Alexander Murray trail. I was taking today's walk a lot easier on myself, casually birding, working on my psshing technique. There was a really cool sounding bird I recorded to ask Scott about later, and I finally found a white throated sparrow in my binoculars. Been trying to find that bugger even when I was in Ontario. Then a saw a few more, rub it in why don't yah? Curse my inability to find even the most common birds! The walk was really nice, what can you say beyond the good views and calmness? There was a stupid amount of stairs but the whole thing was a joke compared to the day before so I took it with ease. Though later the sky went overcast and shunned a bit on the good view it didn't rain so I was glad. Later on past the top a group of Rock Ptarmigans flew out of the shrubs right next to me and scared the shit out of me. Towards the ending of the hike I heard faint folkish music and wondered what I'd find on my return to the parking lot.

The parking lot next to mine was full and surrounding a small fenced off area where a older guy was playing guitar songs and singing about god while hooked up to a amplifier station. Oh god. The thing was, no one was in the fenced off area except for him. Once he finished his last song he started going onto the full proclamation of the god's good word and into the full religious rant. The best part was that when the crowd of people in their vehicles got excited about what he was saying they'd all honk in applause. Oh god. I was mostly packing up my vehicle and getting ready to leave but I caught the full wind of it, and he went into another song where he was saying a lot of stuff about Jesus and God and ahhhhh god, no morrrrreeee. I had honestly no clue it was Sunday before that, and Sunday hasn't had any religious association for me in years and I'd like to keep it that way. The drive now was to a further way East, close to Bonavista, a small town called Keeles where there's odd indents in the rock formations that people haven't been able to find out how they got there called the devil's footprints (since they are almost hoof like in appearance). I pass through many small towns and villages, pass another moose, almost always having a view of the ocean.

 I finally arrive in the town and park near to where the indents should be, but I won't be able to see them until morning. A man from a nearby house comes out, I'm worried he won't want me to park there, but like with much of the rest of Newfoundland there isn't even enough room in many places to pull off the road to park.  He's extremely nice and talkative, I forget how it came about but he went into a big miraculous story of how he got the house for only 500$ but the story turned sadder. The town used to have 200 consistent year round inhabitants but had been widdled down to a mere 35 by now because government regulations on fishing laws and such in areas. In truth the government had tried to move the people that remained out but those who remained wouldn't budge. It's not hard to see why they wouldn't want to move, the town is extremely small but the area is really nice, but it's so far from anything and with no gas station. He tells me all about it as we stare out across the open water and dark skies with wind pushing towards us, waves splashing against rocks and sand on the beach. It feels like a shame that politics can ruin such beautiful places, and time will rid the last people who live there almost certainly when no more move in. I thank him for the conversation and briefly look out further across the ocean as he goes in before going back into my vehicle. I play guitar as it gets darker, the sound resonates well in my vehicle, I let the darkness from the outside and the sadness from the story meet together in the air through my strings.

In the morning I observe the indents, they're underwhelming but very interesting and this was on the way any ways. I feel glad I heard that story, and for coming around here. I wish the best for this place as I drive out, waving a goodbye the man I talked to last night as I pass him. He likes to talk a bit too much, today's weather is supposed to be nice and I have a lot of ground to cover.

I pass through Bonavista and hit up a restaurant, the meal is huge, and at a good price. I was prepared for some toast and eggs but the amount of ham caught me surprise. Big, greasy, cooked, slabs. Paradise.





 I hit up a Puffin spotting location in a town further away later on, they're extremely cute and everywhere with a bunch of seagulls hanging out with them too. I look into a island a bit further past the closer one I'm observing and see a torrent of puffins and gulls swirling in the air together all around. It's absolute chaos, unison and madness, and such a treat to watch. After watching them for at least half an hour I head off to my next hiking destination, Skerwink trail. Once again I want to say more to create a better image of the trip but it's all things I've said. The trail ran along the ocean gave a great view, with a few rock isles and on whole the trail was really nice. I did some more birding, but it was really too late in the day as always to do any good birding. A golden retriever that belonged to no one on the 5.6 km trail started having a habit of following me. I got asked by multiple groups if he was mine. He'd dash along cliff edges and into the thicket with a strong sense of familiarity, clearly having the time of his life. He'd stop by random groups and relax time to time, always accepting being pet but not accepting food, but he'd always catch up to me no matter how much distance I created. After hiking Gros Morne or the Tablelands in extreme conditions it's hard to make an interesting story of what was just a really pleasant hike, but I was glad to have done it. I decided to make the final push for St John's.

I made it, the traffic was really odd. The slow lane was commonly at 120 kmph, the fast at 140. But Saint John's showed up and yeah. It's kind of just a town. There's a street full of nothing but bars that lives in infamy I'm sure someone with berate me for not going to, but this town is pretty much like my home town albeit just much damn further away. People are boorish, either on cell phones or doing jobs they hate with none of the charm or happiness I felt almost everywhere else. I might be able to rent a hotel and bar hop, but honestly why would you bar hop by yourself? I don't like going to bars with friends at home, so I don't like going by myself obviously. I look upon the city sort of vacantly while in a A&W looking out the window at what feels out of place on Newfoundland to me. I question what to do with myself. Good weather is assured in a few days, but really I've already hit up all the major places I wanted to and more. I'm tired of waiting through the rain, and all the exciting adventures have already been lived out. My last destinations were mostly bird watching oriented ones, and I dread the notion of a sixteen hour ferry. Besides, I can't bird watch in rain, or go camping, or do anything but wait it out, and now there's no extra places to drive to in the mean time. I feel lonely and tired of putting up with weather as a consistent inconvenience I have to plan around. If I leave now I'll arrive back even sooner than I did on my BC trip which I got berated on shortness to the point people didn't believe I had gone at all minus my photographic evidence. But I've also done a lot more than on my BC trip, and talked to more people. I know the truth of what I want to do, but I don't want to face it, convinced it will make me weak. I relapse and breath out, I decide I need to live being honest with myself and not being afraid of feeling weak. It's time to go home.

It's almost 7:00pm when I cast out of St John's, by 2:00am I'm mostly across the island. I catch the ferry the next morning, having set my alarm early to get to the ferry I have no reservation for. Half hour after parking outside the ferry we're filed in, the timing continues to work through chaos in my favour. The rain pours hard, as if it knows I'm leaving and is displeased that I'm tired of it's games. The ferry doesn't have the adventurous souls I saw on the way over, heading to a new place for adventure and new experiences. Just odd couples and families, it's pouring out and I can't play guitar on the sun deck, but I pick a main stairwell that's out of the way enough and play for awhile. I have people who stick around, or talk, it feels great to know people aren't just not bothered by my music but they like it. I improv songs about things like adventure, to homesickness and friends. Later I run into the man who gave me a 5$ busking tip on the trip over(on par with the highest tip I've ever gotten). He thought I was going stay longer when I said I hadn't set a time limit for myself and on the way over, I admitted I thought so to, but was frank in saying you can only spend so much time by yourself and I'd already run out of things I immediately wanted to do. He seemed to understand that. I drove out of the ship seven and a half hours later into rain, ate a big dinner at a restaurant with two cups of coffee and drove till 2:00am and fell asleep as I touched the pillow. At 10:45pm the next day, after braving hard rain in Toronto and driving past all those assholes in Quebec, I pulled into my house. Everyone's asleep, I pour the small amount of whiskey I purposely left for myself before leaving, just enough for one drink. I lean back in my familiar chair in my room, finally having had a shower for the first time in four or five days. I look past my monitor, still leaning back in my chair, having the first sip and looking out into the rain and darkness outside my window.

I did it.

I feel relieved, I'm still the person I was when I went to BC. I'm capable of things that are exciting and terrifying and new. I'm still capable of feeling so many ways I haven't felt in such a long time that I wondered if I could feel them at all. The future stands as having no clear choices, but I know there's absolutely no point in trying to make sense of it. If I learned anything from everyone I met it's that there's never any clear choices or solutions, just the one's that we make for ourselves. Just as this trip was my solution for my growing fears of myself, no certainty, only a hope. How could I ever explain to someone why the hell I'd drive halfway across a country and do so many things, only to be by myself in the end? Now I feel completely unsure of what to do with myself, having had plans that have no basis to be carried out now. I have a lot of things to think about but I'm not worried. So long as I keep my stubborn spirit, I can weave anything out my life through whatever reason or madness presents itself as the way. I'm Michael Matys.

So closes the this written chapter of my life. If you read it all, I hope you enjoyed yourself, and thanks for joining me.

Trip awards / Statistics

Nicest person I met: Dave
Favorite Part: Tablelands idiot hike/descent
Most eaten food: Hamburger and fries
Longest time without showering: 4-5 days
Highlight meal: Bonavista restaurant breakfast
Most acholic drinks: 7.5
Worst canadian award: Me for driving all the way out East and having no seafood at all
Favourite bird: Atlantic puffin
Worst part: Pizza Delight
Man, you've always been the guy award: Michael Harasym


Music awards

Move aside city and colour award: Matthew Mayfield
I love this but what the hell am I listening to? award: Yeah yeah yeahs
Oh god the nostalgia award: NOFX
That guitar work is AMAZING award: Rodreigo Y Gabriela
Doesn't use words except for love and heart in song award: HIM


I have one last special thanks to impart, I don't know where I'd be without you. You were always there when I needed you. No matter what mood I was in you'd always be there for me. Caring, warm and loving.


















                                                                             

                                                                            DEBB!!!!!
Also thanks to my supportive friends and family who constantly worried more than I did about the possible loss of my life or limbs.

For days and days and days

The day following the climb I fully realized all my aches and sores but felt nothing but optimism looking ahead, despite the obviously poor weather that was continuing. My wish was granted as I passed the tablelands that I didn't want to see it by having a cloud of fog covering it. That would have been dumber to descend in by far. As with the previous day I want a real damn meal for the first time in awhile, so I start scouting for a homestyle place. I drive right past one and try and deciede if I should flip around, feeling stupid as I always do. The place kinda looks like a shack, but humble. I deciede I can't keep driving each time I accidentally pass something that might be good, and I don't regret it. The serving was prompt, the lady was nice, and the food was amazing. It was called the hearty breakfeast meal and it delivered on its promises with two pieces of toast, two eggs and a slab of cooked ham. If food could make me elicit tears, I would have been bawling my eyes out at this point. With a really nice green tea and at nearly half the price as that shitty meal I had at pizza delight the day prior. Even though the weather continued to frown on me I felt today was a good day and it didn't matter how many weeks it rained. I decieded since I wanted a sunny day for Gros Morne which was at best days away that I would head north to some meadows near the tip of Newfoundland, taking my time to do so.

 It was another destination that I hadn't originally set out to do, but I was hoping that driving up the oceanfront I  would find more favourable weather. I was driving through the rain for awhile but I pulled into a boat launch area that just had me in it and read for awhile. The rain would stop and continue at random intervals, but I didn't let it bother me. I decieded also I was going to jump in the water because sitting in my vehicle for so many days makes you feel muggy. My dad warned against salt water making your skin itch when it dries, I tried to think back to vacations but remembered that nearly any time I was in the ocean I was almost in a pool twenty minutes later so I wasn't sure. The idea of itching like crazy with no fresh water to rinse was less than appealing. I had already felt the water as I was preparing to jump off the ledge of the dock at the launch, around ten feet in the air. Feeling it had been a mistake because it made me apprehensive. The wind was cold with slight spitting in the air, and unlike the cold waters during the BC trip, this swim would not be reinforced after by a warm breeze. I did a slight jog up, hesitated and jumped in anyways, whimpering and making noises in protest to my own choice before I even jumped. Yeah, that was cold. It did almost nothing for my hair either, I even went to shallower waters after trying to wash it out but to no use worth mentioning. Afterwards, though the water lacked effectiveness I didn't get itchy and felt at least a bit cleaner than before. So I continued on.

    I was getting pretty tired of reading and the muggyness of a vehicle not in use. As I drove some clouds were parting ways, and by the time I reached a town called Rocky Harbour things were looking pretty nice. I took a stroll down a beach I found, jumping from big rocks to others, with my towel on my bag to dry it a bit. I brought my binoculars as well because other short walks often had me see birds that would be gone any time I doubled back for them, and so far the weather hadn't been cooperative for birding purposes. The walk was nice, I felt my spirit rise a bit with the sun having its way on the earth again and the walk didn't prove strenuous for my still recovering legs. Walking back I noticed a bird flying over the water. It was immediately white but I learned a short lesson from birding with Scott to never assume a white bird in flight is a seagull so I lifted my binoculars anyways. I thought from a distance that the wing movements were too whispy and I was right. It turned out to be a common tern, it was scanning the water ten feet below it but I was caught off guard as it seemed to lose control and do a backflip into the water. Except it kept doing it over and over times after that. Fighting against the ocean wind it lacks much grace and doesn't always flip, but when forced by a gust will go with it till the dive. I was confused at first but realized the bird could keep his eye on the fish below if he cocked his head to the side as he flipped, which he always did. The whole act was less than graceful but very interesting to watch, even through multiple failed attempts.

 I decieded to eat after and headed for a random restaurant in town. The waitress who greeted me was the most painfully cute girl I've seen since I don't know when. She had bangs down on one side of her face with a ponytail on the back of her head with dirty red hair that was slightly unkempt. She had a honest warm smile. I was a little sadder when another girl started serving me, but this was the kind of cuteness you tried to put out of your mind that made it ever more prevalent. As I was getting my receipt from the other girl who served me the girl from before was checking around the corner for something or other. I left the fear of her seeing my eyes directly for the thrill of being able to look into hers, as much as I tried to stop myself, and gave a honest smile that felt stupid. It was a positive response as she smiled and looked back, broke contact and looked again as I continued. I don't think I've ever done that before, its been long since I've seen anyone I'd bother with doing that either though I suppose. It feels vulnerable and lame but it felt good more so, maybe I'll be more prepared for it in the future. After I play music on the beach, sitting on top of my guitar case as the sun set with people walking by. I can't help but to as always feel a little out of place between old and young couples and families. But I have my music too, which they lack. As I drive out of town the weather is still nice and I'm driving past many short folds of land and rock before the ocean, I randomly see Katherine Chabot on my ipod list and listen to her talents. Another day is passed, I cast in early hoping to wake up late, the days keep promising rain, I just want to continue this trip.

I wake up to rain as expected, I manage to stay in my vehicle late by continuing to read and actually end up finishing the book. And that means there's only one book to go, which means I'll have less means of killing time. Crap. I deciede I'll go the full length north today to the meadow provincial park near st Anthonys, hoping the weather will clear again. The mountains I saw dark outlines of last night are covered by overcast and fog, I grow slightly more disappointed over the sights I'm continuing to miss. I'd decieded by now I'd use a day at a hotel to etch out a day a bit easier between now and when Gros Morne will be worth venturing. My vehicle feels muggy and crowded and smellier by the day. I stop by a beach that's supposed to have a nice view and am greeted by having no vision outside of sixty feet of fog. I feel a little disgruntled and just continue back to the road. I feel tired, I get more sick of each sight I can't see because untimely weather and I honestly consider the pros and cons of leaving now. I head further north, I'm not sure if that tingle of colour in the cloud is my imagination playing tricks on me or if the day can end up well. I'm tempted to use a hotel this day just to pass time and relax for when I'll need my muscles, I almost stop at a inn and eat because I'm hungry but the words pizza delight burn deep holes into my anger as I see them. Not another one of these days again. I sit in a restaurant far from that place a time later, sure that I will pick this day for my get out free card but as I eat the clouds part. I drive further to the north where vikings landed so many years ago, and as with the day before the clouds part ways.

 It's not a perfect day by far, but I'm glad for what I am getting on days where there was supposed to be nothing but rain. I head down a well constructed boardwalk at the provincial park after sharing some words with people that worked there about what its like. I step off the beaten path briefly before a bird starts harassing me with its cries. It's annoying as all get out, but the bird continues to perch at least no less than twenty feet from me, thinking himself intimidating. Christ, I've been here for ten minutes and can't figure out what he is as he continues to chirp as a single black fly buzzes around the hood I'm using to shield myself. As with the tern I found the day before I'm having problems with distinct features, my Ontario bird book was more narrow in its selection, north america is a bit larger. It's a sandpiper for sure, the long legs and long bill say that. But it's a little big for a sandpiper. It doesn't specifically match anything by picture alone so I walk away keeping what I saw in mind. I find the closest relatives, the greater and less yellow legs, the range and the descriptions speak volumes where I need to start reading. The pictures only show yellow legs but say they can range to orange which was the missing feature. At this point I go back to see if I can use the same method to find out if the tern was actually a tern or a rarer gull as I didn't have a good look. Further down the path I hear a bird in the bush next to me not more than five feet. I start Scott's patented psshing method I'm convinced won't work but the circumstances match how he used it subtly, with shorter calls and longer ones the one time I birded with him and I surprise myself as it actually works. A alarmed bird comes up and checks around for an extended time looking around for the bird in need as he chirps in response. To see if if it wasn't a fluke I wait till hes leaving and duck under the bush so he can't see me and do it again and he comes closer again. I run into a old friend from Ontario, a blackpoll warbler. The rest of the walk is beautiful as promised. I feel ashamed I was going to leave but realize the bad weather is still to return, but choose to enjoy this moment over worry about it. I come around the full trail and check out some historic sites that must have had a beautiful view in their time and am upset to find the vistor centre is locked. It's around 7:30 with lots of daylight to burn but the path is designed with no minute workaround the building if they are closed. Not wanting to walk a full hour to my vehicle that's only two hundered meters away I start looking to see if there's a less conventional way over the railing and around the building. The janitor catches me looking with decisiveness and quickly lets me through, I feel bad for even considering it and thank him a ton. I begin the drive back to where I started in the morning. Daylight falls, the paths narrows and winds and jumps into straights and as the space infront of me becomes black outside of my headlights I stare into myself. The music has been off for awhile, I try to find answers in myself and answer honestly but find it difficult. I end up as the night ends where I started in the morning. I grow less patient on the weather with each day.

I wake up, feels kinda early to be up. Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap. Shiiiiiittttt, I start muscling my way to the front of my vehicle and awkwardly fitting on the first pair of pants I find. Oh poooooop. I want to put on shoes but there's no time, sandals will have to do. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shiiiit. I waddle into the brush with toilet paper, there's no time to dig a hole even if I had a tool for it. I cant illustrate for you what happens next but I hope I left enough hints for it lest you be braindead. Rule #1 to anyone who ever so tries to emulate this trip ever, having to poop can happen when you least expect it to so always park somewhere at night where you are insured for the morning. Since I don't poop and squat often I let my piss flow accidentally, not thinking about it and it immediately gets on my pants before I can stop myself. Ah piss. That's the line for having to go to the laundrymat.The morning weather is nice but I know it isn't destined to last. I can only drive a short distance before passing Gros Morne, I deciede I'll use my hotel day. I feel guilty overall, I compare myself to the BC trip and feel weak having used no hotels then. But the weather then hadn't been so cruel to me. I start calling myself piss pants in my mind, I try alternatives as getting sea water to overpower it or soap, but I'm apparently more pungent so I return to where I have photographic memory of a laundromat sign in rocky harbour. It goes surprisingly well, I'm twenty two and have never done my laundry before this but nothing goes wrong. My mommy loves me is why I have never done it. But then again, Nick has done his own before and his mom loves him.. I think.. Maybe she beats him when nobody is looking(note to self:investigate further).

 Anyways I have some good conversations with a man and woman from Montreal with a playful dog. She jumps between her native asian language and french and english all at once so I can rarely understand her but they are nice. Almost all of today is rain except for the immediate morning, I get in the hotel early and once again manage a room without reservation. I realize in the empty time between waiting for my room at three that its been one week since I left. Time flows oddly, I feel great tackling new places and beautiful sights but feel most alone when I am places where people are gathered, as if they remind me I am alone. All conversations either start with or move to the fact that I'm doing this trip alone. Some see strength in me for that and others hold remorse, and I become unsure how to feel about it. I'm more talkative with strangers than ever, I'm not sure if that's of the quality of the people here or my need to have some communication. But everyone's friendly and the conversations are natural so I don't question it. The bartender at this hotel is nice, almost looks like a older version of me, no experience in too much of anything, just moves different places and works, and he mixes a half decent drink too. I talk with him at length when the bar is empty, when I return I have some more conversations with random people. So many damn travelers, they all seem so old and I feel so out of place. An old man I'm talking to asks where my wife is and I almost spit out my drink. But they are good people. Today it rains heavy, I'm glad I picked today to sleep here, I'm glad I've had the time to recover for a hike, but I don't know how many more days of rain I can take. At worst, my stubbornness will have me and I'll hike Gros Morne in the heaviest rain if need be, I feel I grow anxious by sitting still too long. Even if it means that I have to remember a great place as a husk and struggle compared to what it should be in my mind. I can still be proud I did it then.

Feeling fat and sassy

Today is torn between being the worst, best and most horrific day of my life, though being where I am now I am decieded on best.

The news puts me in a bad mood about incoming weather for the week. Rain followed by rain and periods of- well you get it. It was hard for me to pick where to go because of this. This being the one day this week minus Sunday at the end that I'm not going to be pissed on and can freely adventure should be used effectively. Though I currently have no idea to cope with the week should it rain as much as its supposed to. I decieded to head to the table lands, which apparently are Newfoundland's equivalent to the wild west. The driving was the first annoying part.

I don't mean just driving good distances, I'm more than accustomed to that, but I couldn't get the right speed to follow cars for cruise control so it was more of hassle to use it than not to. 120 is far too fast, 110 still a little too fast and if you go 100 people start to ride your bumper and make you feel like a dick. Try and set it to 105 and you're either a fraction too fast or it goes to 110 anyways. I drove with that bothering me before I was starting to get hungry after awhile. I had flat out decieded against fast food since it's practically all I've been having since I started this trip and was keen on not eating the small amount of food I have in my cooler because life cereal gets you by but you don't really enjoy it versus a actual meal. Hunger had already set in for awhile before I ended up at the ass end of a huge line of traffic stuck on the highway. Kids and parents were either looking up the road or messing around in ditches, obviously it wasn't going anywhere soon. Time well spent.


I was fine with it really, got my windows open and turned Debb off and read my book for awhile, but the book was taking a lackluster and annoying turn for the family friendly which was bothering me as well as I really enjoyed the first installment. After about fifty minutes traffic creaked to life, but it was short lived. After 6 minutes of driving I hardly crested the hill before they stopped us again. I got to read my book for about another 15 minutes until we moved. I wasn't sure what to make of the scene, lots of law enforcement, about 10 cop cars and one ambulance parked on the opposite side of the road and pylons for guiding people around a small pool of red on the road someone was scrubbing off with a big bristle broom and lots of water. The scene made me feel sick as I passed but I wasn't sure if it was imagining what had happened or the fact I still hadn't eaten in nearly 14 hours by that point, my last "meal" being when I had a couple handfuls of life cereal before I saw the totally wicked moonlight fox. Then 7 minutes down the road there was construction, as with the rest of the highways or so it seems in Newfoundland. This didn't take as long, maybe half an hour later I was in a town filling up my gas and then quickly off to find food. I passed a couple fast food joints, hating myself and found some pizza delight place that looked like a decent restaurant (still not healthy but I had stopped being picky) so I went in. I was seated and then ignored for around 13 minutes before she asked what I wanted. It can make sense if a place is busy but it was honestly practically empty, no more than 5 occupied tables with 15 or so empty. Lunch buffet was over (obviously) so I opted for wings because I've already had pizza on this trip. I left what I thought of their service thusfar in the washroom before getting back to waiting to end my hunger. This one is harder to describe in time because I was sitting stewling (is that a real word?) in my own rage and starving so time tends to exaggerate but I usually don't. So I'll explain it like this. You know when you go to a restaurant and you order and you're kinda hungry and you wait the regular amount of time and start to wonder when it's gonna get there and it takes long enough that it kinda really upset you? About twice as long as that. A group of four came around 7 minutes after I was seated and were seated near me, their meals arrived 6 minutes before mine and they got their receipt first when I just wanted to leave. When the wings came, they were shit. They give you sauce for dipping it yourself instead of already being covered, the sauce was shit and the 12 wings didn't even fill me up, the wings on their own tasted like shit. I almost scoffed when the rough 16$ for the wings and iced tea came through and asked if I wanted to add a tip. In spite of how angry I was I still said thank you and have a good one when receiving my meal and leaving. Force of habit? What the hell is wrong with me? I leave more pissed than when I entered because I feel ripped off and sick to my stomach. A nap didn't quell anything, now my thoughts were drifting to what the hell I was gonna do for a week of rain and how shitty everything was going.

I started to enter the table lands after driving awhile, what mostly put me so off about today was that the drive was supposed to be laughably short. If holdups are like that all the way it'll take years to reach saint Johns. I see a van I'm following down the highway turn into a scenic view of some of the beautiful scenery from the table that started showing up so I pulled in too. Half my problem with travel is that I drive past things too fast because I'm on a highway and don't know where everything is. By the time I see a road, I've already passed it and have to let people pass before I can do a U turn, it makes me feel idiotic. The scene is pretty nice, despite how overcast the day had become, and the family that gets out of the vehicle is one I talked to on the ferry. I don't bother them about it, but enjoy the scene. I pull out before them but slow down as I see another side road nearby that rides closer to the mountain. I pull in and I guess they liked the idea too. As their three kids starting up the mountain just a bit I started looking at the mountain differently, sizing it up. I paced a bit between my equipment at my vehicle and looking back to the mountain, I get distracted by the old man with the family asking if I knew what kind of rocks they were, as he was a experienced climber at a time or another but never seen rocks so orange. The place really does seem like the desert, but I'm most definitely not embarrassed about my lack of rock knowledge. As he wails the horn on his vehicle for the kids to come back I'm already preparing to go uptop.


Its late in the day, realistically I know that even if I went stupid fast going up I would never get back in sunlight. I don't even think I'm actually going to do it, that'd be fucking stupid with this lack of preparation. The old guy warns me about climbing straight up it, think he might have seen the crazy in my eyes. He tells me to use the path that probably leads there, which I was going to do anyways. I pack up some food, three water bottles, my spot device, phone, flashlight and camera in and around my hiking bag. I keep a combat knife in my pocket just to be a bit safer too, and put on my thin sweater and head down the path. Each step closer to the mountain makes it seem more enticing, I become inflated by enthusiasm taking in where I am and what I'm soon gonna be dumb enough to do, I even start singing a few of my songs. The path ended abruptly, a twenty minute walk tops, and the scene would be better suited to a day that wasn't overcast though obviously still beautiful. I look at the mountain I'm beside now. I already sized it up, I already looked at the least steep parts, I'm trying to deciede if its lunacy to do with the sun going down. I tell myself I'll probably give up halfway, I wasn't sure if that was a lie or not. I try and convince myself it looks small from here, and I know that is a blatant lie. Regardless, I started up it. The mountain itself just looks like it is made from a pile of boulders and rubble so I assess each step carefully when it starts to incline more. I always make sure to have a unwavering holding rock before testing others, and though the dirt looks tempting between rocks on the odd occasion, I experimented with a good hold and found them to give away beneath your feet. Climbing higher I decieded on a rule I was almost certain would send me down in a reasonable time. If the slightest sketchy thing happened, whether a holding rock came loose or I slipped a bit too far for comfort before regaining control that I would instantly go back down. So I climbed, at each point I would be given new paths to analyze and pick the path of least resistance, but after a time I honestly was looking only at the rocks directly beneath me I was climbing over. I think I am in the final stretch and eventually come over a ridge. Oh wow. That was half way. But I don't waver in my conviction for a second. You don't climb half a mountain and just leave the rest, I don't want to do this another day and so forth. The climbing becomes hypnotizing, I reach another ridge and just continue to climb. No rocks give way, I'm being very calculated and careful as if on purpose so I don't have to turn back leaving this landmark unfinished, and being defeated. I lose track of time being stuck in the moment, I'm letting it happen, and I know it's foolish for what it will mean in the end, but I keep going. I push myself hard, I'm on the top now but I'm not on the top top, so I jog for it. I bound over rocks and maneuver through as best I can going through the maze of boulders but it just seems to climb higher. After awhile of that I stop to breathe a bit and look around. I'd been on the top for awhile. I start feeling sick from trying to get up too quickly and threw up the last half bottle of water I drank which reeked of those awful wings. I threw up a handful of times and paused for a second. I looked around me a bit trying to figure out.. Throwing up had made me lose my sense of which direction I had come from, and nearly all the light left in the overcast clouds was gone. I take a simple rock like all the others from the top and a picture showing whats left of the grand view in the darkness (just black), they feel like symbols of my stubborness. I began my descent.


Each ridge was test I had felt, and the climbing inspired something in me. I headed down, estimating based of what I could still make out of the mountain of where I had come from, but I knew it didn't matter. The flashlight couldn't pierce more than 40-50 feet of darkness which is great but can't provide me enough information about a full path down. I would have to wing a way down based off if I could find my old way and what practical paths I could see using just the flashlight. For the places I wanted to be most careful I strapped the flashlight between me and my hiking bag strap and used both hands. The front light on it allowed for this which a regular flashlight couldn't have done. I remember my mom speeling on how great it is to have a good flashlight like this in your possession when she bought it for me and I had thought it highly over rated as she listed off features. Man. I was really wrong. I had even considered staying on the mountain just long enough for light to give me a way down in the morning, even if I had to stay up. But the forecast was calling for rain for the next few days, not to mention a few hours from that time. Rain would not make the way down easier by any degree and my thin sweater wasn't gonna cut it ontop of a mountain in the rain with gusts of wind blowing constantly. Regardless I was heading down, each step twice as careful as on my way up had been. I shortly wonder if anyone far below in the town or highway can see my small flashlight, somewhere it shouldn't be. Here I thought back to how on the way up I wondered which would be scarier, the way up or down. A time or another a rock would give away beneath my foot and I would instantly catch myself. Or I'd lose the flashlight focus where I needed it to be for a second and fumble before focusing. Much like the climbing, the decsent became a hypnotising dance with the rocks that held my ground. I became baffled by my stubborness and stupidity to climb today and not wait or to climb it at all. I reached a lower ridge. Nothing was familiar, I had a general bearing that was working out but it definately wasn't the way I had come. I went past to the next decsent and was greeted by a torrent of wind I hadn't faced on the mountain before. I wasn't sure if it was stronger now or if since I couldn't see much that my senses were betraying me. But I went down, knowing this where the descent would be the steepest, and now there was a stronger wind. I couldn't afford to let the flashlight idle off my chest as it didn't illuminate enough of the rocks, so whichever hand wasn't leaning againsts rocks had the flashlight perched downwards. Some places had smaller rocks and boulders, here I made skis out of my feet in what way I could while lowly crouched to the ground making sure to stay in full control and ease down foot by foot at most. Now I thought of how many people had died for much less than this, people who knew more than me. The first example I thought of though was how my mom was worried when I left. Said I was a gamer and never did stuff like this, compared me to the story where the young kid ran away from home because his parents took his xbox and he fell out of a tree and died. What she said wasn't really false at all. I'm not overly active most of the time, though I had retained some muscles from party tyme's June work. The only difference between me and the kid who had his xbox taken was our age, the fact I'm a pc gamer, and that I was climbing a mountain and not a tree. As you see, the differences are very subtle. I felt like dying here was a very likely outcome, which made each moment feel more real. At the thought of dying my first thought to myself was "but there's no ditches on this mountain, this isn't where I'm gonna die, I refuse to settle for less!" I was terrified and percise in each movement, wondering if it would be the one to betray me to the darkness around me. My feet quivered with each step, filled with adrenaline and lust and excitement for the moment. I found a sort of crease in the side of the mountain that went down. At no point past the 40 foot light range did it seem to stop. It was steeper than I liked but it was my best bet to hit the bottom. After a time I can't count as I'd lost myself in plain movements I was in the valley, much further down the valley than I'd started. I guessed towards where the end of the trail was and laughed as I had guessed exactly where it was. I couldn't believe how damn stupid I was, how senseless I'd purposely made myself, and how much I enjoyed it all regardless of how terrific it was. It had instantly become the scariest and most exciting moment of my life. I started down the path, having the flashlight strapped to my chest again, and sang my songs loudly through the darkness in blatant optimism. A couple specific lines stick with me from each song as I sing them that only ring more true by my actions and I feel great. I have a overpowering urge to drink myself stupid or bed a woman, I feel rugged, manly, stupid and foolish. How it should feel to be human. Many hours had passed since I began my ascending of the mountain, but each moment had been so pure I hadn't felt it or worried how long it would take. And I've never been happier to see my vehicle at the end of it.

I ponder if theres a bar in a realistic distance briefly but deciede just to drive somewhere else and sleep. The current parking lot is vacant and far away from people with no signs against staying overnight but I honestly don't think I ever want to look at the damned tablelands ever again, especially not to wake up to. The whole experience rings of me being absoutely glad I did it, but I would probably never do it again. I'm not sure if I'll ever do anything so exciting ever again, and I'm not sure that I want to. Me descending the mountain at night with so little to go off of feels like the kind of thing Dave would try to get me to do as I use reason to try my best to talk him out of it as he constantly urges the idea regardless. Less than a hour later as I settle in town it begins to pour rain. Everything about the timing was completely stupid and lucky, from when I left, to how the light died just as I reached the top to the timing of the rain being no earlier than at my convienence. I pace myself and downed some cookies and beef jerky, my adrenaline fades fast and I feel less like bedding a woman than just going to bed. The aches in my muscles realize themselves and I notice the skin on and around my hands is gritty and mildly scraped in places. Later that night I wake to horrendous wind from the waterfront I'm parked near and even heavier rain than before. Staying up  for the night would have been even dumber than going down as I did. I judge the hike too poorly I realize, it was only the ridiculous circumstances and time limits I put myself in that made it so damn foolish and tough on myself physically and mentally. I'm fine with seeing those mountains again, I just don't want to any time soon. Sleep takes me again after a time as my vehicle bounces in full motion with the ferocity of the storm, and the new best worst scariest day of my life ends forever. Earlier this day I had been so upset with how things were I was wondering why I even planned the trip as nothing was seeming to go right, now as I was fading away I knew I could end the trip now and it would still be more than I needed, and some great ways better than even the BC trip. But that was just my first stop, one that I hadn't even originally planned on doing, this trip has still only just begun. Using the spot device, instead of telling my parents that I'm okay using the beacon, I tell them the truth. I am feeling fat and sassy.

New friends and high tides

It seems that my virtual visa debit doesn't add up to a credit card, so I'm alittle unsure as to why my visa stopped working before but it meant that I couldn't book the ferry in advance. I considered calling my parents for a number just so I could use the ferry but decieded to test my luck showing up early for the ferry. I had checked the night before, usually days were booked solid a day or two ahead but it being monday must have helped. I got there hours early and was relieved to find that you can get on without a reservation space on the boat allowing. I thought the boat was big from the outside but going inside was blown away by its size. To help paint a picture, I arrived early and therefore got placed on the bottommost parking deck, deck one. When I asked where the topmost deck is to get off at, I am told 9, and deck 10 is the sundeck. The roof has a helicopter pad and each side of the boat carries two boats that almost like mini submarines and are seaworthy capable of holding up to 70 people, or so it says on the sides. I'm disheartened to hear that you can't come back down during the voyage and am torn as to what I should bring. I don't have a smaller bag to carry water or books around in, and really wanted to bring Natalia up. The thought of lugging around the case for the 6 hours trip was less than appealing, but I caved. I was anxious and sick to my stomach thinking about driving onto the ferry. A careless guider had driven the corner of Debb into the corner of a post and quickly became scarce when I did the trip to BC, the only time I've ever damaged my vehicle. But looking out over the ocean as we cast off and standing ten decks higher than my vehicle was parked, I couldn't help but grin like a bastard.


As always, having a guitar on hand has let me meet lots of people. Playing on the shaded side of the boat a few adults open up conversation and they are mildly baffled when they ask where I'm going or if I know anyone in Newfoundland. They seem to have the pride in me I can't find for myself, seems they are the side of the fence where it's good to do things while you're young. On the lower decks I explore a bit, lugging around my case. Earlier I had asked a nice looking working girl on the ship to watch my case as I went to the washroom and was informed that we aren't allowed to leave our belongings at any time. People are expected to rent cabins, a few windows with furniture near them even have small placement cards saying there's no sleeping allowed there. Crap. On deck seven I sit near a group of people my age pawing over a map, two guys and two girls. Half leave and in a bit I start talking to them. The whole groups hails from BC and are gonna move out to Saint Johns for the year. That's one of the coolest damn things I can think of. I ask them if Gros Morne is on their list of things to do and they say they had decieded against it because of the extra distance it would take and their budget. They ask back why I mention it and I say I haven't talked to one person about Newfoundland who hasn't mentioned Gros Morne and promsing I had to see it. As we're talking, a Newfie comes close and starts asking about where we're going assuming we're a group. The next ten minutes hes explaining the safe points on the highway for not hitting moose (nowhere) and a bunch of hiking spots around the area. This is before another Newfie couple enters the fray, having just returned from a two week vacation. Having been an ex tour informant and having friends all over the island and been all over the island she spends the better part of the next hour pointing at locations all over the map and describing the best things to see along with cultural facts and history. Its too damn much to remember is the long and short of it, it becomes apparent that they need a marker or something to jot down these places but we aren't allowed in our vehicles. My songwriting obsession saves the day as I have pens in my case. During this time another young guy comes up and sees we're around the map talking about the best places and becomes invested as well. Seven minutes later his father joins him at the side as well. The congregation of people feels ridiculous, and my head is spinning from the amount of information I'm trying to contain about this province, and am starting to feel mildly sick sitting in there. So I opt out and get some fresh air up top again.

The other young guy with his father is named Zack, I meet them up top. I'm up there for a really long time, the wind is cold but I brought my thin sweater and keep active playing guitar. I let Zack play for awhile too. On either end of the horizon a sun falls and the moon rises and the transition across the open sea sky thats nearly cloudless is beautiful. A lot of people go on the deck to take pictures of themselves in the sunset, or just the sunset, or just the moon. Zack's father has had Gros Morne on his lifelist for a time and they are gonna do it together, hes 55 and it's a big hike but he seems to know his stuff. They say I should busk, and I doubt it briefly. I'd already been playing for at least an hour, and singing without any liquid to clear my throat but I deciede to just do it anyways. There's something about the scene so breathtaking, the wind is powerful and every shade and colour from black to what remained on the sun in the horizon on the other side of the world was flaunting it's beauty. I wish I could keep this moment, I almost want to take as many pictures as I can desperately hoping that any would give it justice but instead I continue to busk, and just live in that moment. The colours change, the sun sets further and I continue to play. I get a few tips, from young girls, a man who asked if I write my own music and a handful of others. People who enjoy it take a seat or stand near, staring over the water. I meet another nice guy standing by who thanks me for the music and puts in a tip, says it does nothing but add to the moment we're all in pretty well. I feel justified, like in the back of my mind I have a strong suspicion that I'm just annoying everyone and am being collectively ignored. His name is Dave and hes traveling with his girlfriend Maya for a job oppritunity somewhere around Newfoundland. Hes in special effects, been from Vancouver to Halifax Montreal and here. Its funny where things can bring you. Most people go in now, the light is leaving the sky by the minute and the wind feels colder with each blow. My guitar begins to moisten and I know its best to go in.

I get a tea from the waffle bar and Dave invites me to sit by him and his girlfriend although I sit at a distance. I try and be humble and say that they're on a trip together and don't want to get in the way of them being a couple enjoying it. He's says that they're a couple all the time before laughing. That's what I get for being modest, so I join them. Zack pops a seat by later as well, we all talk about our trips and there's a few things about our lives thrown in there as we burn away what remains of the day. Lots of good jokes and good conversations before we part ways. Seems like everyone's heading to Gros Morne at a time or another, I hope as I say goodbye that I'll run into them again but I doubt it. I run into the four from before as we're waiting to get down to our vehicles, I make a couple jokes about the absurdity of waiting in line to use stairs, me and my humour. They invite me to camp out with them at Red Rock and I say I'll consider it, as I have no idea where I'm spending the night with the danger of moose on night drives. They're a good group too, all four of them are tight and stop and check out everything. They even have a dog in their travelling van that theyve mostly been staying in. They play music too but didn't want to carry around their instruments like I did. I get off the boat and drive out of town, I look over my Canada map and find Red Rock as my GPS can't. After some confusion I find it, the road doesn't even have a sign but I'm sure it's the right place. I see shadows of Newfoundland as I drive there on the highway, I can hardly see it but I can tell its breath taking. The road is unpaved and sketcky and for one reason or another the other group isn't around, but I don't mind. The road at a point runs beside the ocean and thats where I park, once again to sleep in moonlight. I arrange my vehicle for sleep and stay awake long enough only to make sure my spot sends my location to my parents. Reception isn't good here so I give it the full twenty minutes. I'm halfway to putting my food away when I notice  movement outside my vehicle and I freeze.

Not five feet away a fox is standing by my vehicle in the moonlight, eyeing it down in interest. In this moment I wish like before on the boat I could capture it, I'd like to have a picture of the fox, or for it to come closer but I stay perfectly still, not wanting to ruin the moment I've been given. He idles for a minute before going down a steep slope towards the water. I realize thats probably the closest I will ever come to a non captive fox in its natural environment, quite possibly my favourite animal. I let that sink in.

Before the crazy traveling guide lady told us so much I had general plans, I would leave for Gros Morne this day but now I'm not so sure where to start. I wonder what this place will be like.

Day the third, plus more of yesterday

 

Morning of the third day, I feel like I'm starting to enjoy the trip more. The drive I'd taken before yielded more immediate satisfaction, so I became worried I wasn't enjoying the trip at all. The first night wasn't a great sleep, either I had more space on my last trip (I now have a full sized guitar and hiking bag included) or I've grown, or both. I woke up early and pretty much started driving. It rained a little but nothing like yesterday. I'm now taking full advantage of cruise control (thanks Nick! Parents, you have failed me for the last time) so my ankle isn't so messed up. But damn, do I miss walking. I stop occassionally mind you, to eat or rest or play guitar somewhere random but theres not been somewhere interesting to walk yet. The french drive like maniacs, where 120 kmph is best suited for  the slow lane. But it still feels like a good speed. I pass a lot of people and am passed by a lot of people. If you get bored you drive, because the weather has been kinda crappy for stopping anywhere too long thus far anyways. I listened to music for awhile, but for later hours drove with it off, even sang a few of my own songs. I know I miss much new scenery by driving at night, but the scene is intoxicating. Trees are silhouteed against the sky which holds sparse clouds which hold the moon, ahead of me is the highway and my headlights, leading down a path I've never been. It feels like a dark corridor that I'm travelling alone and seldom pass another vehicle, and when I wake up in the morning I'm somewhere I've never seen before. After driving for hours I get off the highway outside of any town. On the off ramp, all signs insist I turn right to have a good sleep, buy coffee or fill up on gas but I turn left. The signs seem confused, they think I came this way by accident and urge me that good sleep is in the opposite direction. I pull down a road that's to have a dead end, passing one house after driving down it for a couple minutes and I spin around and park on the side. I want to write my passion for such moments while fresh, or play guitar, or read, but I want even more to feel sleep's embrace. I arrange my luggage in a new way that allows a small amount more of comfort, but it proves to be far more than I need to fall asleep. The silhouettes are still outside, and moonlight is falling into my vehicle and laying all about me, and a gentle wind blows. I submit to sleep.

 

Morning arrives, I feel much better than yesterday morning, I'm somewhere I've never seen before. I check my oil and ready up for a full day of places I've never seen.

   Today proves to be close to the others, driving obviously holds its place but I manage a good walk down a beach, and for a time I consider camping there and having a fire. But it's far too early in the day as much as the night promises a calm breeze and sea air so I head back to the highway after relaxing for a time.

 

I called my parents and am reminded I should consider a hotel this time around the bush. I remember Scott telling me to give myself that luxury and I also remember how I don't have a much farther distance to push to reach Sydney. I less than reluctantly pull into a days inn after shopping and eating. It's late in the afternoon on my third day out and I finally have a shower, first sitting in hot water for a time and finishing by switching it to cold before getting out (try it if you haven't). People have been nice today, no one too pushy on the highway and a couple honks and waves while I was at the waterfront. I dress up in my nicest freshest clothes and hang in the hotel restaurant bar for awhile. I feel a little odd about the spending of my money, I stand as a mostly frugal person but have held nothing back on this trip. I spend on gas and other realistic expenses without feeling any remorse, just as I felt nothing putting the money away and withdrawing none. Dairy queen for breakfeast, less realistic but why fight what feels like what I want to do while on this trip? Each dip into my account degrades my worth as a human being in the eyes of man and unsurprisingly I still feel no remorse.

 I manage a couple conversations with bartenders and a drinker waiting on his girlfriend waitress while having a few beers. The guy waiter appears to be late twenties or early thirties, took a bartending course and ended up here. A female waitress who seems beyond comfortable in her element comes to that shes thirty five with kids, it's a summer job and she's going to school and has been a waitress since sixteen. The equipment and organization is all wrong but they both migrated from a casino together and stand as hard workers regardless, and its clear to me that were it their choice they wouldn't be here. Makes me feel selfish that I'm trying to find a stable answer to which path to take, while they make the best of where life has sent them already. I give them a twenty to split knowing it will mean more to them than to me as I finish my fourth drink and return to my room. I'm humbled by the people they manage to be under their circumstances, instead of watered down thoughts I get more philosophical as I drink, but I wonder which is worse. I don't expect an answer at the end of the trip to any of my constant and lingering questions of life, but I know where I am, and what I am doing, and who I am right now, feels right.

 
 Tomorrow I either ride the ferry or book it, some time or another I'll arrive, and the time to test my mettle will have arrived. The future for me may never contain any answers, but I know this is right.