Bernie's off-the-beaten-track
account of his bike trip across Canada not only captures
the amazing differences in it's landscape but also of
it's people. He takes you into the homes of the ordinary
folk who befriend him, travelling on a shoestring and
without a tent for protection. Night fall could as easily
find him camped out under the stars on an isolated beach
as taking shelter in a
abandoned
house during a thunderstorm. Barns
and churches were his favorite home away from home while
police stations were his least. Roadside chats often
stretched into three-course meals then overlapped into
restful nights between clean sheets. Meeting people has
always been the name of his game and once again Bernie
has captured their spirit.
" It was 7:30 a.m. I had just finished
a condemned man's breakfast of limp toast and lumpy
porridge. Outside, the rain was pelting down. Curbs had
turned into mini-waterfalls and streets into rapids. My
brain said let's go, but my body wouldn't budge. Bernie
was not a happy camper. I was, as we North Americans put
it, psyched out. For sixty minutes I stayed glued to the
spot. I was excusing myself. Too much rain, too much
traffic. One last cigarette. I was just beginning to
enjoy the misery when the rain stopped. The sun popped
out and the streets started to stream.
It was 9:30 a.m. by the time I found
Victoria's mile 0 signpost marking the beginning of the
Trans Canada Highway. There were no media in attendance,
no Trans Canada groupies to talk to or early morning
joggers to wave at. I didn't dip my toe into the Pacific,
break a glass of champagne over the rickshaw or ask God's
blessing. If I was to feel special, it didn't happen. The
6000 plus kilometres I would have to cycle to the finish
line hadn't even registered. I couldn't even think past
the next bend, let alone Newfoundland".
