The road less cycled

In Holland sometimes, the fog gets so thick they say you can cut it with a knife.  Out here we don’t get fogs like that very often; if we do at all they descend on areas closer to the coast, by Tsawwassen or UBC, perhaps.  Sometimes parts of Abbotsford, Chilliwack, Aldergrove, do get shrouded in a fog, but very rarely so thick you can’t drive or see very far ahead in it.  Perhaps it’s the Dutchman in me, then, that makes it feel like I’ve been blindly feeling my way through a never-ending, dense fog that envelops anything I touch and follows me wherever I go. 

I jest, of course.  Being of Dutch descent has nothing to do with it.  In any case, I consider myself more Canadian than I do Dutch, to the chagrin, I suspect, of my parents who identify strongly with their home-country.  Myself, I love the Canadian landscape, the mountains, the wild rivers, the salmon in the streams.  The wildness of it - if a relative urbanite who manages the occasional half-day excursion to a well-worn trail a couple hour’s drive from suburbia can claim to know anything of Canadian “wildness.”  Perhaps, however, an extended trip to anywhere but here would do me well, for lately I simply can’t seem to shake the doldrums. 

Perhaps I’m tired of what I’m doing not working; not having any tangible pay-offs.  The biggest thing, I think is socially - strange, considering my history of keeping to myself.   Truth be told, I’ve always been something of a recluse, never going out of my way one iota to get myself included in the social circles.   In hindsight, my attitude’s mostly been one of, “fuck it, if people want to hang with me they can jolly well do so and I’ll be glad for the company, but I won’t, as Thoreau puts it, ‘quarter’ myself on anybody.”  In some ways I’m perfectly cut out to function in my current capacity, as a reporter, with the UFV Cascade – UFV’s student newspaper.  I know everybody and notice all the social interactions and pay attention to what’s going on on campus and in the community, but am content to more or less be an observer.  Why then, given my solitary tendencies, does it bother me that I function in a world of my own crafting where so much of my interaction is on a professional, formal level, and so little on the personal, intimate level?  Whatever the underlying reason, it’s eating away at me on the inside and making it difficult to maintain the same level of dedication to all that I involve  myself in.  It’s the source of the “I don’t give a fuck” mentality that seems to be bubbling to the surface with alarming frequency, and causing the almost robotic quality of my day-to-day life. 

I may not have many enemies, but I can’t lay claim to a great deal of close friends either.  It’s my nature, it seems, to always find the balance, avoiding strong emotion of either kind, be it love or hate.  I”m tired of being so agreeable, so conciliatory, so passive.  As the epitaphical song I heard on either CIVL or CBC Radio3 today, can’t remember which, said, “I need some more bad times.”  I can almost agree with that sentiment – by comparison to many that I know, my life has been a cakewalk that a cantaloupe on wheels could saunter through just as well as I, and I’d almost welcome some adversity.  Take ML, for instance,  whose mother gave him a few days notice to find his own place to stay, just got fired by his stepdad for not coming to work after being hit by a car, and whose knee keeps popping out it’s socket.  Or NU who might be in jail for a while after altercations with the mother of his daughter.   I’m certainly not asking for anything like that – I’ve been blessed and fortunate to be spared such hardships, and just wish that I could be of more help to these people.  Giving an entire pizza to a homeless bum sleeping at the bus stop or sending money the way of a non-profit I support or supporting a friend through a difficult time – these are the things which keep me going.  About myself?

Well, I really don’t give a fuck.

Right, who am I kidding?

Although Stephen Rees and Paul Hillsdon have already expressed much of the indignation I felt on reading the coverage of Maureen Bader and the Canadian Taxpayer’s Federation views on gas taxes, climate change, and transportation policy in The Province, I feel inclined to add to the chorus of outrage that an organization claiming to be representative of Canadian Taxpayers has the audacity to claim that, “People love their cars and and need more roads, so gas taxes should be directed to encourage the car culture, not fund public transit.” 

Like Rees, I nearly choked on the pita I was eating at the time that I read that comment, and couldn’t believe the contents of the rest of the article.  With statements like, “More and more scientists are coming on record and saying that man-made global warming is probably not the cause of the global warming that we have been experiencing over the past few years.”

And further, “Taxpayers have got to ask themselves: ‘Do we really need to have a $14-billion Cadillac transit plan when all the government is really expecting to see is maybe a five-per-cent increase in transit use?’ People here want to use their cars.”

These views are exactly the opposite of what I would hope an organization speaking on behalf of the taxpayer would be espousing.  I’m all for reducing the net tax load on individuals, and this is what the CTF should be advocating, but speaking against action on climate change at this critical point is sheer lunacy, and betrays unbelievable ignorance of what scientists are telling us and have been telling us for decades.   The following article makes this quite clear.

Maureen  Bader and the CTF need to get their facts straight, examine the real causes behind oppressive taxation, and be more representative of the Canadian taxpayer before further damaging the organization’s credibility.

Did you ever get the feeling that you’re doing something for the very first time, even though it’s something that is so common as to almost be second nature? An experience of rejuvenation, something that previously was difficult or routine, but suddenly is wondrous and new? I’m referring, of course, to my new old bicycle, but most other examples I can think of also involve technological upgrades – a new computer system, a new car, or even the the invention of the remote control bringing the luxury of not having to get off the couch to change the channel.

The experience can be applied to a long awaited healing as well – imagine, or hearken back to, using a disabled body part for the first time after an injury and finding it works as well as it ever did. I can only imagine how Mama would leap and dance for joy were she to regain the strength she should rightfully have.

Cycling today, on the Apollo Shimano 600 Club Tourist bicycle Papa picked up for a pittance at the local auction, was an absolute joy. The sheer power of the stroke resulting from having the toe-cups for my shoes and the bigger revolution. The aerodynamic benefits of the road-bike posture with the down-turned handlebars. The minimal friction generated by the ultra-thin road tires. I truly felt like I was flying and as if the drivers on the road had nothing on me.

For the first time, I truly understand the joy that is cycling, the whir of the chain on the gears, the synchronicity of body and bike, and actually feeling a sense of ownership of the distance traveled. You don’t get that in a car, in a car 99% of your body gets a free ride, and the hills and valleys are swallowed up by the car as if they were nothing at all. I’ve discovered that I love driving almost as much as I enjoy cycling, but I can’t live with the side-effects of car culture – I can only temporarily stifle my inclination to actually give a damn.

Though it’s certainly hard to do so when encountering people like the jackass with the gigantic Dodge 4×4 who honked at me though he was only 30 seconds from his destination where he let his truck idle for a good 10 minutes.

We’ve long lived on completely different planets, in virtual isolation from each other despite our common situation in life, namely having the same parents. By all appearances, that one biological fact has been the only thing linking us in this lifetime, as all we’ve done is briefly acknowledge each other periodically before going our own ways again.

Of late, however, it seems the planets we inhabit have adopted something of a new trajectory in relation to each other. If not a full-on collision course, it’s at least a trajectory which has aligned the two of us more so than at any time in the past. Perhaps it all changed the day he and SD first walked into my then disaster of a living space (I was going to say “pig-stye” but that would have been denigrating to pigs the world over) and she bashfully stroked Funny, our graceful and elegant black long-hair cat. They weren’t dating yet, but I could tell there was some chemistry in the air, and neither of them have looked back since.

She wasn’t his first, but easily had the most going for her of the women he’s dated. No contest there. Relationship commentary is risky territory, but I can comfortably say that she brings out the best in him, which may have helped me see him in a different light. Or maybe just in any light at all, as since elementary school the closest contact I’ve had with him is the brief two years that we attended high school together, when I’d glance across the chapel and see him sitting there with some buddies waiting for chapel proceedings to begin. It was around that time that he picked up a job as a driver for Domino’s, beginning an unending string of late nights and late mornings, in complete and utter scorn of the old saying “early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” There was the odd incident, such as an alarm clock hitting the wall or homework torn to bits, but overall things were relatively uneventful. Loud music would drift from the office, and later, from his room once he had his own system built. That was the time he spent racking up phone bills with his first love in Richmond, once snapping in annoyance as I barged in on yet another heated phone conversation that “someday he’d walk in when my wife and I were having sex and he’d stand there and watch.”

The three year age difference between us, and then the fact that our interests were almost completely dissimilar meant we rarely saw each other. While I was absorbed in sports of all kinds, he was working odd hours, mostly late, and teaching himself about computers and cars in his spare time. Starting out with a Ford Escort, graduating (if it can be called that) to a Mazda 626 automatic shift, to a 626 standard shift, and eventually to a leased Mazda Protege. He moved out oh, about nine months prior to me becoming an uncle to a beautiful niece, Katie, over three years ago now.

Still we didn’t talk much; if anything, even less than before, even as he was promoted from Assistant Manager to Manager. Coming from opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to interest in cars, I somewhat churlishly showed only half-hearted interest when he acquired the Protege, and, admittedly, when Katie was born as well. Let’s just say I didn’t envy him the responsibility, and more or less left him and his family to their own devices, reckoning that the virtually mandatory drop-in appearances with his ex (whom we barely tolerated and never connected with) on birthdays, Christmas, New Years, Easter, etc. were awkward enough not to press the issue. I was the university boy in the family, and even the year I spent working and saving following high school were understood to be in preparation for university the following year. Neither of our parents received significant post-secondary education; my dad none whatsoever, and my mom receiving a naturapothic certificate which was exactly that, a certificate. Becoming a stay-at-home mom was the next step, after working as a nurse for some years, and any naturopathic knowledge was destined to be used solely in raising the kids.

So I hightailed it off to the then-University College of the Fraser Valley (now without the “college” part) with a year’s savings in the bank and bit of scholarship cash, still carless and more than ever entangled in my various community and environmental pursuits, seemingly hellbent on establishing that one-sided environmental champion stereotype I now so loathe. Even that’s not entirely true – I had no intention of involving myself with on campus issues, but I fast found out I’m a sucker for causes, whether they bite me in the buttocks or accost me with a megaphone, or quietly infiltrate my brain’s decision making centres, show me a cause, particularly one with an environmental bent and lacking in volunteers, and I’ll show you a side-tracked individual.

Meantime, he doggedly pursued his Quixtar business, convinced the soundness of the business model, the profit-sharing system, and the vast array of products that everyone bought anyway, made for a slam-dunk combination that would lead to financial freedom, and hence, opportunity. Or at least if he wasn’t convinced, he did a damn good acting job. It certainly didn’t take flight immediately, and still hasn’t, but no judgement can be passed on that – anybody with a fifty hour work week and a daughter and some basic human desire for some leisure time can’t be faulted for not building a quarter million dollar business on the side. Today, he’s equally, if not more, committed than ever before, and now has SD’s enthusiastic support as well.

So all this came full circle in November of 2007. I’d been out of a job since working part-time for a local regional government agency for the summer, and had recently been broken up with by my first, and only, real girlfriend, a fact which betrays my at times crippling and inhibiting shyness. I needed a job and he needed drivers, so I said to hell with with the car-free lifestyle, let’s try something new, promptly opening up a whole new chapter in my life. Since then, with SD becoming the manager of the Abbotsford store where I worked, and he being the supervisor for both stores, I’ve had the chance to both associate with my brother much more than at any time in the past, while also associating with SD who’s helped me to see him in a different light – the way she sees him, which I believe is as an unbelievably withdrawn guy who very rarely reveals his personal side, but cares one hell of a lot about his family and is really bright on the technological and mechanical side of things. It’s certainly not a comprehensive description of what she sees in him, but at least, I think, touches on his unique personality.

It’s SD who goes out of her way to include me in the social functions that the two of them attend, mostly, it’s become obvious, on the basis of SD’s dynamic personality than his social skills, which, as I’ve come to understand, are rather pathetic. That’s harsh, I know. I can say that, however, because mine aren’t much if any better. Honestly, watching the two of us interact at a party could be the subject of a sociological thesis all on its own. I’ve always loved the sidelines, preferring to chip in periodically, but not to be the centre of the action. It’s my leadership style too – rather than take charge right from the get-go, I like to come to a group consensus that is absolutely firm with input from everybody, then let somebody else make any final decisions that have to be made, and step in and fix things if they get fucked up. In that sense, we’re opposites – he’s more likely to say “this is how it is, and this is what you’re going to do” and if you have any objections you’d better voice them loud and clear and logically or you won’t get much of a chance to influence the decision.” Casually though, in an informal context, trying to get us to actively participate in relaxed fashion is virtually impossible. My sense is we’re simply too caught up in petty things like self-consciousness, while also much preferring to move beyond ’small-talk,’ gossip, and petty banter in favour of more abstract and practical topics. And we prefer to let others do any embarassing that’s going to be done.

These days, however, I think we understand each other a lot better, and look to be turning what could be a negative, egotistical relationship stemming from very different approaches to life into a positive and mutually benefical relationship in which I appreciate his hard-line bottom line business-oriented cut-to-the chase approach, and he benefits from my emphasis on mutual benefit, social responsibility, and perhaps more inclusive tendencies.

They’ll be moving out soon, as one bedroom with no ceiling (just a frame), and a kitchen and bathroom upstairs simply doesn’t cut it. I’m liking my living situation, provided I get some more input into how to store all the accumulated half-functioning clutter. The smart money, of course, would be on us somehow pooling our resources to accelerate an eventual land purchase instead of working to make individual landlords richer, and/or working together to build a business capable of giving our parents what they deserve and of giving us the freedom to do what we please – in my case, live simply, with access to some land, the ability to host social functions, and within carless range of the major amenities, and in his case, well, I’m not really sure. Horses for SD and our sister, perhaps.

Whether I can rationalize the Quixtar business opportunity with my worldview, and my need for less structure, more spontaneity, and more freedom, is the big question. We could be a great team who support each other, or a couple of stubbornly independent individuals unable to come to terms with what we want out of life and how to go about getting it. For now however, our planets are within shouting distance, and that is the first step.

Just wanting to express my sincere and undying gratitude to you, faithful streamrambler blog reader, for continuing to frequent the blog.  Yes, I will still be posting.  Have patience and stay tuned.