God and the magical mattress (indian time 2)

"A car with a trailer coming our way is passing and having trouble getting back into his lane. I flash my headlight to make sure he sees us. He sees us but he can't get back in. The shoulder is narrow and bumpy. I'll spill us if we take it... I hold steady to the edge of the road. Her he COMES! At the last moment he goes back and misses us by inches." p. 111  ZMM

At Anahim Lake I met an old guy riding a vStrom (a sport touring bike) who tells me he just got out of the rain fifty kilometers south. He was going to camp in Anahim, however with 3 hours of daylight left I felt that I wanted to get some more distance before I camp. That and I am cheap and know that it would cost me much more to camp at Anahim Lake and I thought I could find a recreation site for free.

I drove for almost fifty-five kilometers south of Nimpo Lake when I found this nice spot along the river. While it was not a formal recreation site it was obvious that people camp there. That or young people come and have pit parties. Being Monday night on a long weekend so I could rule out that possibility.

The next morning I pack up my things at a leisurely pace and start my day. Without coffee I should add. I pulled into a resort a few kilometers down the road but it appeared that no one was home. I didn't want to push the issue seeing I was out in the middle of nowhere. You never know how people look at longhaired bikers showing up to their piece of heaven unannounced.

Finally I got to Tatla Lake where I pulled into the West Chilcotin Trading Post. I asked a guy who was pumping his own gas where he thought I could have a cup of coffee. He told me that the Trading Post had excellent coffee and it was always free. I assumed one would have to fill up with fifty litres or more of gas to get in on this deal.

I walked in and met an old couple huddled around a freestanding stove set up in the middle of their store. As we started talking he told me that he always brews Kicking Horse coffee and uses water from an artesian well that is on his property. The coffee was fantastic and it was free. So what is a person to do, buy some stuff that you don't need of course.

The store had a myriad of treasures. It is where I bought a machete that was made in Brazil (you are welcome Noah). This time I picked up a book and a post card for Alli. I sat on the car bench seat that was on the front porch of the store and I wrote a quick note to Alli and mailed it. I could see from the mountaintops that the weather was moving in so I knew it was time to go.

Every now and again the clouds would break up and I would get to see the sun. The highway changed to a more easterly direction and I could see that the weather was moving directly from the west, so I felt that I could keep ahead of the system. It didn't appear to be moving very fast at this point, but I know that things can change quickly in this part of the world, especially with the diverse geographical terrain.

I won't bore you with all the details and get to the content of the title of the post. I knew that when I approached Redstone I was in perfect synchronicity with the weather, my thoughts, and my surroundings. I was a little dumbfounded with what happened next.

I noticed an old Chevy pick up truck heading towards me. As it got closer, something didn't look quite right. I didn't know if it was a make shift roof rack but as it got closer to me it took on a different shape. About ten metres before we met the shape lifted out of the truck box and started to float in my direction. I didn't really have time to have too much of an “oh shit” reaction. I moved into the farthest part of the road. There was no paved shoulder and a deep ditch so that wasn't an option. I intuitively lifted my left foot and the object hit my bike. About a second later I realized that I was okay and it was a box spring mattress that had flown out of the box of the truck. I pulled my bike to the side of the road, but I couldn't shift my gears. I turned off my bike, looked down at the pedal and something didn't look right.

I started to walk towards the truck that was now at least a hundred metres down the road from me. The couple grabbed the box spring, threw it in the back of their truck and started reversing in my direction. They were relieved to hear that I was physically okay and said that they would help me fix my bike after they take their junk to the dump. I walked back to my bike with a thought that maybe I would include a bit of motorcycle maintenance on my trip, hoping that the damage was repairable.

I unpacked my bike in order to get access to the tools that were in my trunk underneath my seat. By the time I was ready to work on the bike, the couple had returned. They were able to block the road so I could safely lie on the road to check out my bike. The gearshift lever appeared to be stuck on a piece of metal that shielded the muffler from the undercarriage of the bike. I was able to take the lever off, bend the metal and then mounted the lever a bit higher than it was originally. Everything worked okay. I exchanged contact information with the couple and they offered to pay for any repairs that I might incur.

It turned out that I had met the woman a few days before when I filled up with gas. She recognized me and seemed very grateful that I wasn't injured. I didn't allow myself the same relief or time for a reaction as I was still being pushed by the weather and didn't know if I had time to stop. A few kilometers up the road I stopped and walked into this gorgeous lodge. I asked the cook if she could make me a chicken burger in ten minutes. She stated she didn't have chicken but could make a fish burger.

I set my stuff up on the deck so that I could watch to see how fast the weather was approaching. I couldn't relax so I walked around the pond and the beautifully manicured grounds.

It was like I died and gone to heaven.

mother theresa time ...

On this journey I was not on a fixed schedule. I didn't have to be anywhere at any certain time. I had four days from Saturday to Tuesday where I was free to engage with the process and allow the experiences to emerge in their own time. My Spiritual Adviser told me later that "Indian Time or how Mother Theresa time" isn't an excuse for being late for appointments. It is time to allow the divine to connect with you in the present like a stream making it's way back to the source.

I had a loose agenda but I was trying to allow the circumstances to be my guide. I had a few things that I wanted to do and I wanted to savor each intersecting moment of memory.  Where we filled up for gas, where we stopped for a break, or grabbed some snacks.

Here are a few pictures of these places. On the surface they may not seem to be attractive or beautiful, however when revisiting a memory they take on a whole new perspective. Kind of like seeing an old friend after losing touch after many years ...

At each spot I consciously tried not to be rushed. I wanted to take in my surroundings at each spot in my journey.

The other influential component was the weather. I had been watching the long range forecast and found it interesting that the only places that had weather reports were Williams Lake and Bella Coola. There was a gap between these communities and if you understand the space you realize that the geography changes dramatically within the space of five hundred kilometers. There was no way to plan or revise your plan based on the forecast. You would just begin and see what happens. I had rain gear and all my camping stuff on board so I could adjust accordingly.

Last year I had learned on my bicycle trip that sometimes feeling discomfort and cold would be part of the experience. The old man who met me at the beginning of my journey spoke of the Sun Dance ceremony. In this experience hardship is expected. I knew that while I was not going to pierce my skin with bone and tie myself to a pole,  my hardship would take on a different form.

The other narrative that was in the back of my mind is that when I was on motorcycle trips with each of my boys, in direct contradiction of the forecast, we almost never experienced rain. This trip it looked like I would experience rain, the only question was when it would come.

Fast food

If one selects Highway 20 you quickly realize that eating during the trip will require some flexibility and some transformation. You have few options in between stops, which is why you have "snack food" and hydration options packed in an accessible location.

Being a long weekend there was no guarantee places would be open to have a sit down meal. One of the options I had prepared in my mind was cooking food on the go. I was looking forward to the hill and using my bikes engine heat to cook a meal. I stopped in Alexis creek and picked up a couple of burritos (unfortunately the only ones I could find were frozen).

Lets talk about "the hill" for a few moments ...

The song by the Wingdam Ramblers explains the history

Bella Coola Hill

Murray Boal

I'm a gonna tell you a story About a road you’re gonna drive down. Through the coast range mountains Pacific Ocean bound From the west Chilcotin It’s a long way down the Bella Coola Hill. Long before the sailing ships And the white folks settled here. There was a trail up into the jack pine They been walking for a thousand year. Gonna keep on walking It’s a long way down the Bella Coola Hill It’s a long way down     The road is a’steep and narrow     Cuts down a mountain side     On the road to Bella Coola     Are you ready for a wild ride.     It’s a long way down Back in the 1950’s There wasn’t a road down the hill. And the people in the valley say We want to get one built. But the government say, there aint no way Cause it’s a long way down the Bella Coola Hill It’s a long way down The people got together And they bought a D-6 Cat. And they built that road on there own You never seen nothing like that Such a will and determination It’s a long ways down the Bella Coola Hill It’s a long way down     CH twice

The gravel section of the road drops fifteen hundred metres in twenty kilometres.  This is the main transportation route and includes all forms of vehicles from RV's and B train semi's to motorcycles. Just remember up hill traffic has the right of way.

Back to the cooking lesson.

The first step in cooking is removing the packaging and finding a place on the bike that is hot, but not too dirty. One out of two points covered.

Half way down the hill, flip ...

and then find a pull off and eat. The taste of perfection.

Eat while enjoying the view.

If you want to see a more detailed video click the link below and start at 45 minutes.

Start at the 45 minute mark of this video to get a glimpse of what I saw that day.

My mountain top experience

NOTE: I have much more to share about the following experience. I suspect this interaction needs to happen within a different medium, preferably face to face from my perspective.

"Mountains like these and travelers in the mountains and events that happen to them are found not only in Zen literature but in the tales of every major religion. The allegory of a physical mountain for the spiritual one that stands between each soul and its goal is an easy and natural one to make. Like those in the valley behind us, most people stand in sight of the spiritual mountains all their lives and never enter them, being content to listen to others who have been there and thus avoid hardships. Some travel into the mountains accompanied by experienced guides who know the best and least dangerous routes by which they arrive at their destination. Still others, inexperienced and untrusting attempt to make their own routes. Few of these are successful, but occasionally some, by sheer will and luck and grace do make it. One there they become more aware than any of the others that there's no single or fixed number of routes. There are as many routes as there are individual souls.

p. 187-188. ZMM

After connecting with Tamara and Trevor and overnighting with their family in Williams Lake (the valley) I was on my way. I had suggested to Trevor that I was ready to experience miracles. What I didn't expect was the intensity and the frequency of these experiences. As I suggested before I was weaving the fabric that contained the past and the present. I had pieced together a few photograph of our trip together and knew some of the significant locations due to these pictures. For the rest of the trip I had to rely on my memory, which isn't always fantastic.

The reason I didn't have more pictures is because my house fire had destroyed my computers hard drive and I hadn’t uploaded many pictures to the cloud due to slight mistrust of the digital “Man”.

My first memory of our trip was at a look out point overlooking the valley. Trevor knew the place and thought it would be within the first hour of my journey. When I got there I immediately recognized it and I parked my bike and looked out to the valley.

I also had packed some Miss Vicki chips and some chocolate milk. I was enjoying the experience totally in my own world while others stopped at the rest stop, using the facilities and enjoying the view like me.

I choose not to engage with anyone as I wanted to bask in the connection that I was making with Baxter.

I remembered that it was here that he had taken off his helmet and was trying to adjust his headphones. I don't remember if it was here or a short time down the road when he realized that he would have to unplug his MP3 and just figure out his own way to fill the silence. You see, unless you own a thousand dollar helmet it is almost impossible to enjoy music while the world wizzes underneath your feet at a hundred and ten kilometers per hour. Particularly when you are riding two up on a 1982 Silverwing that only had five hundred cc's and was at least a hundred pounds overweight.

Then it happened

A guy called out and asked me if I was enjoying the view.

I replied, “Yes” without making eye contact. He didn't stop and was walking in my direction.

I can't remember his words but he started sharing with me about mountain top experiences. Within five minutes he was talking to me about tears, grief, and the ritual of letting go.

It lasted about thirty minutes. When he was done I knew in my heart that I had experienced a direct voice of the divine. I have been struggling with the words to describe my experience, or what to call this man. He used several words to describe himself, but for the purpose of this blog, lets just all agree that he was a healer. A healer sent on a journey to the village at the bottom of the hill. On his path he was open to meeting fellow travelers to speak into their experience and connect them to something greater than themselves. A spiritual gestalt.

At the end of our conversation I asked him his name ... 

After a pause, he said God