Prairie-Total Immersion

Farmer’s Field, Alberta

July, ’80

I awoke to pouring rain, and found myself out in it promptly at 9 a.m., the hour everybody had to leave the hostel. For five continuous hours I bicycled in the rain. Nothing-new there! In fact, I was beginning to feel like a rain god. I had been telling people that rain followed me everywhere, and if it hadn’t been for the disc jockey on the radio telling me that the sun was about to chase the clouds away, I think I could have easily convinced myself that I did have some sort of mystical rain connection. With that thought, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It’s amazing what you do to amuse yourself when you’re traveling ten miles an hour and you’ve got thousands of miles to go. Anyway, the sun finally did come out, and bicycling got a whole lot better.

I stopped at Drumheller, a town on the edge of the Alberta, badlands. But that was after the big decision. I had to decide whether or not to visit Jean in Saskatoon, or take the southern route that followed Canada’s border with the States? I figured going north would add another six or eight hundred miles on my trip, but how could I pass up an opportunity to visit Saskatoon, Saskatchewan? That name alone had magic power. And, Jean, the girl I met back on the train in British Columbia would be there. What more could I ask for? Besides, she promised me a beer! On the other hand, if I took the southern route, I would have to fight the trans-Canada traffic, and if there was anything I disliked more than bicycling in the rain, it was bicycling in heavy traffic. Of course, I knew the beer Jean promised me might not happen—so, to alleviate my fears, I stopped at the nearest hotel and ordered up my usual four drafts.

After talking with some locals, I toyed with the idea of sticking around to explore the badlands. Apparently, lots of paleontologists were attracted to this place. From just the small part that I bicycled through, I had no trouble envisioning roaming dinosaurs, and that was in addition to its natural beauty. In fact, the place was called the valley of the dinosaurs. But, as much as I wanted to stay, I also knew it was getting dark, and I needed to get my tent set up, so I bid the friendly bar people adieux, and headed out of town. A few miles down the highway, I set up my tent and called it a night. I went to sleep anticipating dinosaur dreams, but I also hoped to see a morning sun. If the sun turned up, I knew I would be called back to bicycling. If it didn’t, well--I didn’t have to worry about it because it did.

I awoke to sunshine. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. It was a no-shirt day, too, my first of the summer. You had to like bicycling in bad weather to make long distance bicycling worthwhile, but under a hot sun, on a good highway, with little traffic, and the Chinook winds at your back, you forget all about the bad stuff. After weeks of mountain biking, I found the prairie beautiful. My head was swimming in the fragrances pouring off the yellow flowered wheat fields. It’s funny, but I have not talked to one person who liked crossing the prairies. Maybe they were heading in the wrong direction. Moving through one field after another, I gained a new appreciation for the adjective, earthy! The prairie was total immersion. The people in the cars and trucks were incredibly nice, also. Most of the time, I had to deal with honking horns, not this time, though. The Albert-ans were really friendly. They made me feel like a human being--a good feeling.

It’s getting to dark to write. I’m in a farmer’s field, not far from the highway. I just hope tomorrow will be as good as today!