Saturday, August 02, 2008

Blueberry Ride

Colorado feels like a million miles and a thousand days away as I sit on an old dock jutting into Cassidy Lake, New Brunswick Canada. Its planks, white paint flecked and peeling, sit atop ancient rusting steel dollys, possibly previously used to cart massive trays of food to inmates in some mental institution. It would seem fitting. Now retired and rusting their days away in a small spring fed lake near the Bay of Fundy, serving one last function. Eventually the flecking paint and rust particles will make their way down the 30 miles of creeks and streams into the Bay, exit into the deep ocean, dillute into particles and molecules and possibly someday make their way back onto dry ground as rain drops, maybe even falling on the head of some intrepid traveler on the CO Trail who is probably just a little bit nuts for making the journey.

It's been 3 full days since arriving back from Colorado, our trail experience a tale for another day, when better internet connection allows for pics... the climbs were enormous, the air thin, the weather impeccable, the company most excellent. I learned many things about myself, including a deep fear of high mtn lightning and an unquenchable desire to never eat an odwalla bar again. There are a hearty few out racing the Colorado Trail as I write this, some have even completed their journey, others nearing the end. I cannot follow their progress nor properly post my own experiences due to 1999 internet connection speeds here in the woods of the Atlantic Provinces, but I really don't feel ready to do so. I'm thoroughly enjoying this short vacation from my vacation. My old mtnbike sits alongside the rustic cabin, to be taken for a spin or left to sit in the rain if I wish.

The hills here don't rise tall, but they never stop rolling, rarely a flat. With legs born of a 50+hr wk of Colorado riding I decided to sprint the 65-70k of dirt and highway down to the Bay of Fundy and back. With little food or water on board, I was damn hungry by hour 2, then I saw them. Blueberry bushes. Everywhere. I stopped and chomped like a bear fattening-up for winter. I couldn't get enough until my stomach told my legs to back away from the berries. 2 berry stops later and I was back on Cassidy Lake sipping a cold Labatts and wondering how long the magic legs will last. Maybe until the 50 (the vermont 50 that is); it'd sure be fun to really crush that one. It's been a dream for a log time; but nothing like the feeling of an early morning dream, when wakefullness mixes with sleep, that the CO Trail has left in my being. The high mtn passes, the endless descents, the long sleepless nights of a day's adrenaline mixing w/longing. I plot my return in silent moments, my thoughts returning to the highs, ignorning the lows. I wonder what Andy's doing?


At 8/06/2008 11:54 AM, Blogger Thom P. said...

That there is some damn fine writing.
Can't wait for the whole story.


Post a Comment

<< Home