The road less cycled

Looking back, it’s evident I’ve long been a complete rebel behind the scenes, and a partial one in my conduct. I disliked everything unfamiliar to me in childhood, from music to vegetables to swimming. I’m paying for that now. As a teenager, it was being human that got my gander. If everybody was getting their first car, I was busy cycling around. If everybody was forming social groups, I wasn’t going to be part of any social clique, and I just did my own thing. If everyone was listening to whatever band was popular back then (and I kid you not, I really have no idea), I was only interested in differentiating between the calls of a black-headed grosbeak and a robin. (ever tried it? it ain’t easy). If everybody was celebrating some cultural holiday, I couldn’t really have cared less, seeing only an orgy of consumerism based on questionable history where others saw an excuse to celebrate. Back in teenage days, sex too, was new of course, and even there I just said, well hey, all 20 billion (or whatever the number is) of us humans who’ve ever graced this planet do that… Sure, I’m sure it’s fun, but what’s unique in that? As a friend of mine quotes on her profile, a quote I rather like, “Human beings are here because of several million years of sexy ancestors.” (G & K Hendricks). Well, I can pick holes all through that argument, but still there’s a lot of truth there.

I bring these things up because I sometimes lament my lack of rebellion, despite the fact that I disagree with consumerism, growth at all costs, genetic modification, over-harvesting, burning gas so prolifically, eating animal flesh unnecessarily, not cycling places, monopolizing resources, make-up, fashion, over-consumption, capitalism, socialism, and most other “ism’s,” violence of any sort for most if not all reasons, etc. etc. etc. Hell, I’ve rebelled against just about everything we do as a species, just not in overly blatant or confrontational ways. It’s no wonder my psyche was where it was and is where it is, or that lately I delight in flagrantly and hypocritically counteracting my supposed worldview of ideal conduct.

You’ve likely realized by now how easily I put a positive spin on things. We humans are really capable of rationalizing anything, a theme I return to time and time again, and I have only barely gotten started. Fortunately, I’ve held off of acquiring too much history to have to rationalize.

Because I’m no illusionist, as she warned against. No, it’s all laid out for all to see. I realize I sometimes seem to invoke a certain stereotype more often associated with the feminine; that of being “complicated”. Well, first of all, I’ve never liked stereotypes or put much stock into them, but secondly if being “simple” is an attractive attribute, what planet do you hail from?

Writing on the weblog is not something I should be doing just now. Blogging is something I ought to reserve for times when I have something of particular interest to contribute, rather than times of soul-searching and existential crisis. This blog isn’t intended to be a raw, no-holds barred transcription of my life, and it isn’t going to become that either. But often I’m tempted to write that way, and resist for a few reasons, among them that I can’t write about a lot of the most urgent and pressing issues in my personal life without also writing about other people whose anonymity I can’t really protect even by using only initials or aliases, because it’s their relationship to me that’s important.

Perhaps more importantly, it would mess with my psyche to be writing about stuff that isn’t related to sustainability and policy and transportation. To clarify, it’s not that not writing about those things would get to me; more that the other topics I’d tackle wouldn’t sit too well with me, being items rather unsuitable to be made that public.

Suffice to say that at this point and time, despite living in one of the most fortunate places on Earth and basically having everything handed to me on a silver platter until perhaps the last few years, I’m finding the term “basket-case” a frighteningly accurate description of my state of mind; something I’d attribute to being 25% my fault, but also to my challenges being 90% out of my control, offering 0% satisfaction to address, yet feeling like 100% of my responsibility at the same time, with the results being a constant oscillation between being a penny-pincher and wantonly blowing my wad, which is better than being indulgent 100% of the time, but still not so good. And that is as specific as I’m going to get. (I am starting to sound like an economist, what with assigning a value to everything, aren’t I?

It is, after all, Halloween morning. If it was otherwise, don’t you think I’d be out partying?

Leaving behind for a minute the question of what is money, how do we make it, who makes it, and what is it really worth, let’s accept for a minute that money as we know it is currently the way in all things are valued, and let’s face it, is an unequivocal bottom line, the determining factor for so many of the things that matter. We instinctively recoil at that thought – I know I do, at least – but it’s very difficult if not impossible to get around the fact that without access to funds, it’s going to be very difficult to acquire the things that we need, or establish something of a safety net so that when shit does hit the fan in our lives, we have something to fall back on. Without money, we can’t buy health care, we can’t buy natural health products, transportation is next to impossible, post-secondary is out of the question, and the list goes on, and on a little bit of a larger scale, corporations and extractive industries continue to be able to wield the “job provision” stick in justifying the pillaging of our wilderness.

Now, money is central in our lives, but even more so for regions far more poverty -stricken than here.  Often, just a small sum, is enough to make a start at a business that can mean the difference between continuing to live in poverty and creating some flow of income so that there is hope for the future. That’s what micro-credit finance is all about. Pioneering it is what won Mohammed Yunus the Nobel Prize. The high re-payment rates of loans made on the micro-credit principle speak strongly for its success. It should even make the hardline right-wingers who decry what in my economics class they call, “transfer payments” – social benefits, employment insurance, welfare, GST rebates, child benefits, and the like – happy, ’cause what microcredit is undeniably doing is giving a leg up to those just don’t have a means to get a start otherwise, and not doing so in perpetuity or extended periods so as to create dependence, but just providing a start-up amount so that people can put their ideas and skills to the test.

So that’s just micro-credit off the top of my head. As with everything these days, there is a wealth of information about it online. At Dr. Google. Or…fine…I’ll do some research. Go here: http://www.globalafc.org/blog/press/microcredit-an-agent-of-change/

So micro-credit fits perfectly with my belief in a need for far-reaching reform, but that only a massive shift in how we use money is practical right now. We can use small sums to fight poverty. We can donate small amounts to non-profit groups doing work that we believe in. We can make small sacrifices in the monetary sense so that there’s still some money at the end of the month, and we can contribute to something we feel good about. It’s the path I was on back in 2006, and got away from in a big way since then, and would like to re-capture.

Even better, there’s a program I’m going to do next summer called the Global Agents for Change, in which money is raised by participants who cycle together for weeks at a time. Three rides are available in 2010: Vancouver to Tijuana; Amsterdam to Istanbul, and a Cambodia ride. Now I ask you, was anything ever designed that was more suitable for me? A 2-3 month bike ride, an extremely low-carbon and pro-fitness way of travelling, while raising money to lessen the income gap between rich and poor nations? I was intrigued from the moment I heard about this, so it didn’t take me long to make up my mind that I was going to do this. It’s going to happen. Summer 2010, and I’ll do what it takes to get there. I’ve been throwing around ideas for long distance bike rides or walks for a while now, and this totally fits the bill.

So what do I need? Well, $3000 bucks and a good bike. Not that I don’t have  a good bike. Right now I have an old Raleigh, probably from the ’80’s somewhere. Bright blue. A little faded. No gear slippage. Sturdy, if a little heavy. A good touring bike? Not really. Too heavy, considering I’ll probably want to carry 60lbs of gear. Not customized for my body, and for a 9 week ride, that’s essential. So a new (used?) touring bike is probably essential for this trip.

How am I going to get the bike and the money? Scrounging. Not eating out. Buying and re-selling. Re-developing the focus I haven’t had a semblance of since I had a concussion at the behest of a giant, moving, chunk of steel in March, and leveraging that into having a job while going to school. That, for me, is hard. I’m not a great saver. I tend to say, “screw it, when I decide what I want to do with my life I’ll save. For now? No way Jose.” But to cycle from Amsterdam to Istanbul, it’s worth it. No question. So I’ll do that, with a little help from my good buddies who read this blog who have my permission to give me a good kick in the ass whenever I spend too much…

Speaking of getting some money together, if you like and believe in micro-credit and want to see what it can do, feel free to send some cash in the direction of this important cause – from now until June saving to donate money to this is what I’ll be doing, that much is certain. Although….probably best to wait until I’m accepted before you decide to contribute

“You don’t date people” she observed, with characteristic abruptness, a few months ago now when the topic came up. It is an observation that is more or less true, though there are undoubtedly episodes she doesn’t know about. Generally though, I’m not the guy who shows up with a new girl in tow the night after a break-up, or even the one who’s never without a girlfriend for more than a few weeks. Though I’m not one to obsess over these things, since I mostly allow life to run its course, it is something that’s been eating away at me for a little bit now. So despite being something of a “non-interventionist” in the sense that I too often allow life to unfold as it will, rather than taking a “grab life by the horns approach,” as well as a technophobe (in the sense that I don’t particularly like technological gizmos rather than that they confound me) I  did decide recently to explore an online dating site, something I haven’t ever done in the past. But the question remains, why don’t I very often get around to dating people? Well yeah, there’s the classic  ”I have high standards line,” but I think that one’s a little bit too stock, too stereotypical of an explanation, but partially true nonetheless. I think the other part of the answer to that is two-fold, only one of which I’ll dwell on here.

I think it’s undeniable that I hold some rather odd opinions, that not a great many people share, and which put me at odds with a lot of the people I come across.  Like the time I was hanging out with my brother recently, and we were chatting with a friend of mine, and they shook hands in saying good-bye, and he complimented my bro on his handshake – a perfect opportunity for me to chime in (after he left) and say, “That’s BS – what does the firmness of your handshake matter?” after which a good 20 minute “animated discussion” ensued, not over whether or not it was important to have a strong handshake, but over whether that was something we should really value. I won’t get into the whole discussion, since I’m just using this as an example of where I had an opinion that runs counter to what I think is the predominant view in our culture, and if you’re really pressed and trying to carve out a niche for yourself in a pretty competitive economy, definitely the most practical viewpoint. I certainly won’t deny that practicality is definitely something I need to pay more attention to at some point, getting off this rollercoaster of academics interspersed with temporary jobs and sometimes rather aimless, drifting search for both the meaning behind why we do things the way we do, and a deeper meaning behind this oh-so-mysterious human experience.

Then there’s my scorn of the oh-so pervasive suburban lifestyle, of sacrosanct institutions and customs that we simply adhere to without questioning, and in Abbotsford, the particularly difficult one of spurning (for the most part) the use of an automobile, something my tailbone is all too aware of right now, not to mention I don’t currently have a bike to ride. I in fact disagree with so many people about so many things that I’ve taken to just listening, patiently, and not bothering to point out where I think their reasoning is off.

Because it’s not like I have a ton of solutions to offer at this point anyway. I often even offer a counter opinion to one of my best friends in Abbotsford, who, one time after we’d left a billiard hall, said he hadn’t really connected with anybody, and that when somebody asked him how he was, he just said, “Opinionated”……which was such a breath of fresh air. To end this piece on a solid note, some things I know I do like and want to be part of my future are the thrill of physical exertion after a run, bike ride, or hike, the satisfaction of being able to produce your own food or know the people who did so, and the knowledge that the natural systems, the streams and the rivers and forests, that ultimately are the source of life on this planet, are intact and not compromised by our presence. That’s been one of the guiding principles of my life to date, but one that’s taken a little bit of a backseat to Edward Abbey’s admonishment, which I’ll paraphrase since my innernet’s down: That it’s not enough to simply fight for the preservation of our wilderness areas; we have to take the time to enjoy them, to experience them, so that we can truly understand them.

Well, I now have the ‘Net again. Here’s what he really said (my paraphrase was SOOOO not worth it):

“It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.”
— Edward Abbey

I’ve recently gotten a Twitter account. That means I’m now connected into to Facebook, Twitter, MSN Messenger, Skype,  and right here at WordPress. Never mind that I rarely use MSN, Skype, or Twitter,  and only rarely use this blog of late. This seems like definite overkill – do I really need to be that wired in?

So I just thought I’d put a quick post here for those of you who still land here now and again. Quick, but guaranteed to be better than Twitter, which is basically Facebook status blurbs on disability.

Briefly, I’ve decided that I’ll almost certainly finish my degree here at UFV. Yeah, yeah. Booooring….

I’ve been pretty frustrated by university lately. I really have no patience to sit in lab being instructed about how to draw a graph. I’ve only been fed that drivel since Grade 8. I think I should either know that by know, or be resigned to never learning. Be clear, be precise, and you’re good.

There are definitely more scintillating, titillating, and engaging aspects to campus life than that. However, 2 more years of this appears ominously stifling. But because I have invested so much into it (getting on 15k now), and because there is value in having a degree as well as freedom in pursuing higher levels of thinking without constraints, yet, I’m going to suck it up for a couple years, hopefully buckle down, and do my best to skip town at every opportunity. Besides which, I’ve a family here that needs me.

UFV’s got a good Geography program. It’s a university now as opposed to a University-College. The program is well-regarded, and can be complemented by a Master’s, PhD, or perhaps BCIT Fisheries & Wildlife or Forestry. I’ve got roots here too. Just have to learn to give some people what I’ll term the “warm shoulder” when I meet them in the hallway – a polite, “Hey, how are you” without a full blown conversation ensuing. I do, after all, have to get something done…consider yourself forewarned.

Aside from the University,  Abbotsford’s a good place to be. I can get around ridiculously cheap, yet quick enough to get my things done. There is a new community garden, a thriving, vibrant Farmer’s Market, developing bicycle infrastructure, and a transit system that will get you most places, especially in tandem with a bike.  In short, all the things I love. There’s a bit of wilderness here and there – Sumas Mountain, but also the Chilliwack River Valley, and with a car rented for the odd weekend or a Greyhound Bus, the rest of the province is plenty accessible – it’s more finding the time that’s the issue. Heck, on transit not even Van. is far away, the odd time that I need to go there.

So yeah, this city’s got most of what I need, and is close enough to what I don’t have. The car-free lifestyle, though not easy, is very feasible. Sure, I want to find myself in Hasselt, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Tasmania, Nagasaki, Holland, and more. That’ll happen. Not without some kind of a foundation however. Fall of 2011 is when that should be over with, in the form of a BSc, if I can bite the bullet, yank back on the reins, and put a bottle-cap on that wanderlust.

Only question is, how much do I like soup? To breathe, I mean?

Life has slowed to a crawl, just in time for the hot weather to sweep in. If your parents ever sang that song about, “Lazy summer days, with the fish jumping and the cotton being high,” well, that’s what things feel like right now. Replace the cotton with reed canary grass or corn, and the fish jumping with red-tailed hawks soaring, and the songs fits perfectly.

I walk home everyday from the bus stop on Blueridge, from which I span the rural-urban divide, going through the subdivision, around the detention pond under the power-lines, through the barbed-wire fence, along the makeshift pathway through a young alder grove, down the hill as the pathway snakes through a grove of middle-age cottonwoods, and then through a large patch of grass that’s waist high, before I cross the creek and cross the field to my house. All in all, it’s about 10 minutes from the bus stop to my house, 13 if I’m going uphill.

It’s a bus route on which I’m starting to know some of the users. There’s Rick, the laid off reformed gang-member and now born-again Christian who’s using his free time do some serious working out. There’s the girl who goes down to the City Blends with her laptop to do her homework and do some people watching. There’s the red-haired girl who draws faces on balloons to pass the time. There’s the Indo-Canadian security guard, who remains the only one to offer to sign my petition to implement a transit line between Chilliwack and Abbotsford. Everyone else I’ve had to approach. There’s the lady who disagrees vehemently with Tim Felger’s “election” signs downtown which say things like, “Your mom called. She said to bring home a baggie.”

Riding transit so much, you start to love the endless variation among the people on the buses. The quirky bus drivers, the poverty, the young punks who hang out in the back of the bus, the young single mothers who you feel sorry for but admire for their pluck, all the people who don’t jive so well with the rest of society. Who you don’t see are the young professionals, the businessmen, the people who think they’ve got it made, who drive sporty cars around town and still believe the world’s their oyster and shun transit at all costs. Here in Abbotsford, there’s a certain homely feel to using transit, almost a sense of ownership that simply isn’t present when you’re in Vancouver or some other urban metropolis, where the sheer multitude of people makes any sort of group identification based on transportation routes unlikely.

Transit slows things down as well. Countless times I’ve walked the 15 minutes to get to the bus stop, lounged for 20 minutes reading or chatting at a bus stop, or walked the distance that the bus was going to cover because it wasn’t going to arrive for 20 minutes. As I recover from the concussion that I suffered, I’m not working yet, freeing up 35 hours per week or so. I’m still too stubborn to apply for student loans, having paid for everything out of pocket so far and determined to keep doing that as long as I can, so I’m not taking any classes because I just can’t do it financially. That leaves me with a lot of time to myself. Heck, I don’t even have the money to use all the free time getting my entertainment fix. Instead, an independent business opportunity has arisen to which I’m dedicating myself – one to which I see no downside or risk, and the potential for great rewards –  along with some casual, simple work in my garden, and some excellent literature. Ebay, too, has become my second home as I try to liquidate all the un-needed items that  are scattered around the property.

It’s a lifestyle I’m going to miss when I move on, and make no mistake, move on I will. This little 15 hectare patch of land bi-sected by Downes Creek and containing my little garden patch will be places that I will always visit fondly, albeit with mixed memories of a place that sustained me throughout high-school and early university, literally and spiritually, but also saw the accumulation of more sheer stuff than I could ever use or reasonably dispose of, along with the emergence of health challenges about which I’ve been relatively mute and will remain vague.

All my instincts scream at me to simply play it safe, and establish some kind of shelter against what may or may not metamorphose into an international if not a global catastrophe, as our society’s energy supplies start to stagnate, taxes rise, the baby boomers leave the active economy and demand their social security benefits instead, and the extinction crisis driven by a changing climate begins to mount, affecting not just the world’s ecological systems, but the people who are intricately tied to them.

By nature, I remain a cautious person, with an avid dislike for casting preparation to the wind and letting the chips fall where they may.  Yet, there are things to be said for a devil-may-care lifestyle governed more by the changing of the winds and the seasons than the fickle shifting of society’s economic outlook. It’s a hardy, no-expectations and no set plan lifestyle which takes life as it comes and doesn’t focus too much on the future, outside of idle speculation to pass the time. Perhaps most importantly, it relies on natural skill and capability to pull one through when hard times do arise instead of reserves that have been put aside in good times. What I can’t seem to decide is whether the people who lived in that way did so deliberately, knowing that any disruption in the current socio-economic state of things could turn their world upside-down, or whether they were simply too ignorant, lazy, stubborn, or selfish to focus on getting ahead and laying something aside to help them deal with bad times when they did arrive. I’m not mentioning many names, mainly because there are really only a couple of figures who characerize that lifestyle who I know much about, and even my knowledge of them is limited. But I am thinking of the people who characterized the Beat Generation, the free lifestyles of the 60’s, 70’s, and more recent decades as well. What I am coming to realize is that there was no heavenly balm of peace and good times which settled over that post World War period. There was the Cold War, and the ideologically justified combat of the Vietnam and Gulf Wars. The threat of the annihilation of a way of life was ever-present, as it is now. As I develop a broader understanding of the way things work, I find it more and more difficult to pronounce anything with certainty.

The idealism that would have seen the proliferation of public transit and bicycles, high density self-sufficient housing, community gardens, and the emergence of a government aware of the complete inadequacies of economics as usual, is fast fading within me. From the time of the first catastrophic detonation of the atomic bomb, groups have called for nuclear disarmament without success. The Kyoto Treaty was first adopted in 1997 and took effect in 2005, and today we are further from its goals than we have ever been. People continue to gradually lose traction against the ceaseless wheel of economics, as more slide into poverty and taxes rise ever higher. We are at the point where prominent British scientist James Lovelock, founder of the Gaia Theory, believes that we have finally passed the point of no return, and that the best expenditure of energy is now in preparation for the inevitable collapse of the world as we know it. Now, that’s easy for him to say – on the one hand, advancing a theory that costs him nothing but casts him into the spotlight even if he is dead wrong. But on the other hand, the science and economics of where we are does look grim. The main point here is that progressively minded activists have been calling for certain changes since many of my friend’s grandparents were teenagers, and as far as I can see, have been stymied by a range of factors, from the military-industrial complex, to fractional reserve banking, to simple human nature and greed.

Yeah, that much vaunted idealism that saw me quietly advocate for the things I believed to be of paramount importance, is giving way to a higher degree of realism that espouses one of my brother’s core beliefs: That if you don’t help yourself, you can’t help anyone else. In the face of escalating financial challenges that make a mockery of the naive, simplistic, and innocent desire to triumph over the power of money, the cogs of ICBC, housing markets, food costs, the price of accredited education, physical limitations, and prohibitive health care expenses,  a lot of the edges that defined my core beliefs about the role of a good citizen are being worn away – as near as I can gather, what happens to all idealists who don’t take jobs with the goverment or in government funded academia.

I have not yet seen or met anyone who meets two conditions: 1) is not constrained by money, and 2) acquired their wealth through means that obey the “do no harm” principle. Willful ignorance, rationalization, forced justification, and turning a blind eye seem to dominate in people’s mindsets, which is certainly not to demonize humanity, but to assign fault and to acknowledge our inherent imperfection and pragmatism.

To fly in the face of established wisdom about conclusions, I’m not writing a proper conclusion here. Rather, I’d simply like to urge you, if you read this, to disagree vehemently or simply play the devil’s advocate. I do hate it when people agree with me. I know I’m right anyway; I just wish people wouldn’t admit that. So come on. Tear my impromptu essay to shreds. Give me a failing grade, and I’ll do the same for you. Tell my why and how I’m wrong, and I will be your friend forever. Just know that I don’t make many enemies.

I was going to write something related to family and what makes for a satisfying life tonight. However, I got into a bit of a mental quandary about the possibility of it coming back to bite me in the ass, and decided not to. So this is what you get instead – just a short little note explaining that what you are reading is not a dramatic, controversial expose of the most risque stuff that goes through my head. Rather, it’s a high-percentage log of ideas that don’t appear to have the likelihood of exploding on me, and that I’m very confident about.

Maybe one day I’ll decide that there’s no harm and actually some benefit in spewing out outrageous material, or just material that somebody might twist and use against me. For now, I’ll adhere somewhat to the realm of political correctness, and save anything else for my private life. If you were looking for something else, too damn bad is about all I can say.

Or just wriggle your way into my private life.

Running with the crowd has never been my thing, quite possibly to my detriment, but at certain times, most definitely to my great delight. I wrote a few weeks ago about the oxymoronic ubiquitous phenomenon of claiming not to be mainstream, but truthfully, very few people can make that claim.

What I do know is that I haven’t developed a great deal of friendships, mainly, I think, because I’ve never been remotely interested in what my peers were doing. By Grade Six I had an extensive list of bird species that I’d seen; no one cared when I did mention wild birds.

In Grade Six I’d pull my desk over away from the rest so that nobody would bother me. My future Grade Seven teacher wonderingly said I must like it that way.

By the time my peers reached age sixteen, some were beginning to acquire driver’s licences. Me? I couldn’t have cared less.

After high school, I cycled and bused across town to get to a university, and watched in amazement as the parking lots swelled each day.

At a youth gathering at a friend’s church (ok, I had some friends), when mentioning facts about ourselves, I said, “I grow my own food.” Despite the stifled laughter, it was true. In Gr. 12 I’d put in a veggie garden, to see what my backyard could save my family.

In this picture, you can see where Downes Creek runs by the line of trees, my house in the distance, and the field where I get a lot of my stinging nettle.

On Sunday mornings, despite going to a Mennonite school, I wouldn’t go to church, even though I promised a cute girl that I’d go with her one day. Instead, I’d go on long rambles over Fishtrap Creek or Downes Bowl, figuring that was all the church I needed. In retrospect, they weren’t long enough by miles. Oh yeah, she’s married now, a fate I’d sooner put off. But that’s what they all say, isn’t it?

These days, I cook stinging nettle for dinner. It’s free, abundant, and great for you. What better combination is there in this world than that, and yet who among my peers does it?

I never have cared much for alcohol, blazing, smoking, or drugs, reckoning this world was still good enough I didn’t need those things. Besides, I ride transit. I know where overuse of them will land you. It ain’t pretty, though better than some fates I suppose. As to whether this world’s good enough, well, the jury’s hung on that one. And they’ll probably appeal the verdict anyway.

To find like-minded people, Abbotsford probably isn’t the place to be. I know that, and yet I can’t leave. Besides, I’d probably find a way to disagree with the like-minded ones too.

Probably it’s the stinging nettle. I hear the system can only handle so much before you become an ornery contrarian. Haven’t you heard? It’s called biomimicry.

On March 4 I was hit by the driver of a Lexus while trying to find a way to bicycle to New Westminster.I was on Broadway, heading East around dusk, and woke up a few hours later in a hospital bed. Of the interceding period I have no memory, and my memory of days and events immediately after the accident is patchy at best.

I haven’t driven or bicycled since the accident, and have walked, taken transit, or been carpooled everywhere. Since then I’ve seen a flurry of doctors and a couple lawyers, spending most of the rest of my time at home just “takin’ it easy”, as Buck 65 says about his trip to the fishing hole. I’ve rediscovered some wild places, started some good books, and tried to remember that I actually do still have some academic obligations. I think I’d kinda been in the unconscious process of dropping out of sight and starting afresh in some ways anyway.

What matters is that despite having been in jured while riding my bike, in no way will I be deterred from doing so in traffic again. Perhaps my resolve is even stronger. In a sense I’m lucky to bere; some maniac irresponsibility on the part of the driver of that Lexus, who was going 65km/h in an intersection, while according to the police officer who attended the scene, I was doing everything right. My life however, wouldn’t be the same without my bicycle, so damned if I let this be a big setback in that regard.

Mentally things have been a little patchy. I don’t always reconcile with reality, I guess you could say. For instance, in the preceding text, I’d swear I’d written “incident” instead of “accident” as my subconscious seems to prefer that word. When I go back and read it however, what do I see? The word “accident.” Perhaps most strangely, my family queries me about things I did just after Mar. 4, and the event in question simply doesn’t register on me. I have no memory of some of those things. Days seem to go by like the flash of a shutter; I’ve barely started one before it’s time to go to bed and start the next one again.

Oddly though, I’m not getting any mental feelings of regret or resentment; only a feeling of  “this is how it is, this is what happened, now you find the best solution.” Nothing else, other than a seeming inability to focus on the mundane and the occurrence of an obsession with the bigger picture that’s a little disconcerting.

I mean, it’s a bigger picture which includes the prospect of continuing ecological destruction, a dysfunctional economic system, a patchy job market (or soon to be patchy if it’s not yet), and a living situation that has more questions than answers.

More insanity than mundanity.

Some clever wag once commented that we’re all unique, just like everybody else, or something to that effect. Together with planning to be spontaneous tomorrow, it’s one of my favorite oxymorons, because it captures the internal dilemma that so many of us grapple with. Nobody, but nobody, wants to “fit in with the crowd,” or to “be mainstream.” Nobody will happily admit that they’re pretty mainstream, that they just go with the flow and do what most other people do, and like what most other people like. The phrase “I just don’t do mainstream” is almost ubiquitous.

In ‘05 I worked a blueberry field in Matsqui, where I had this conversation with a woman who was just pickin’ for kicks, saving some pocket money and spending time with her daughters. I posited that I’d sort of come to the conclusion that if most people seemed to be doing something, it probably wasn’t the right thing to be doing. She agreed, saying it was the exact conclusion she’d come to. The next step in that line of thought however, has to be, what if most people are studiously avoiding what what most people are doing?  Is it then time to avoid mass avoidance and fall back into line with the masses? Now we’re well into the realm of circular thinking, of self-destructive logic.

The reason being, that the scale of acceptance of a school of thought or phenomena shouldn’t by itself be the litmus test of its worthiness. We all have to make our own judgement calls on every particular issue; sometimes this might put us squarely in line with the majority, other times it might put us on a collision course with a juggernaut. This is when things get interesting, and you check the displacement value of whatever you’re driving. (for the uninitiated, this is what passes as dry 2:35 a.m. humor.)

Of course, the line between being “mainstream” and being “unique” is extremely broad. You only have to read the book, “Stuff White People Like” to understand this. In fact, the range of lifestyles, hobbies, and careers that are available to us in today’s day and age is mind-boggling, and so broad as to make us all unique almost simply as a product of living in the society that we do. We are all drawn to particular aspects of our culture for various reasons; some people have an affinity for puttering around with clubs trying to stick little white dimpled balls into holes in the ground, some get together in groups and try to simplistically emulate popular numbers with simplified guitars, which is basically an admittance that we’re too lame to actually learn to play a guitar and instead are content with knowing this is as close as we will ever get. Some people like to take up a cause and try to arrest the momentum of something they are certain is Bad so that something Good can take its place. Point being, we all have the little things upon which we balance our Individuality. In keeping with the ubiquitous quest to be “random” and “spontaneous,” people especially prize being able to claim as a hobby something that apparently has no basis in the realm of practicality and is by all appearances completely unproductive, and of course, random. If there’s one thing that can be said about the segment of society with which I am familiar, it’s that above almost all else, we prize anything and everything “random.”

Well, there are other things that unite us of course, things that run as common threads through many of us, and, yes, make us “mainstream.” One of these, nearly to a man (and woman, geez, the expression was written before feminism ok?), we’re extravagant consumers. When we shop at Tim Horton’s, Starbucks, Staples, Ikea, Walmart, buy Apple computers or use Windows operating systems, buy a daily coffee because we “need” that to kickstart our day, uber-obsess over appearances, look for a “good” “job” (which I’ve heard defined two ways – “just over broke, and jackass of boss), these things make us mainstream because we all do them. This doesn’t necessarily make them bad, it just makes that highly likely. I mean seriously, try to defend any of those lifestyle practices to me from a social consciousness perspective. I ain’t all holier than thou either. I do all that too, fairly regularly actually. And so, I forego my claim to the realm of “uniqueness.”

Where all this is going, is to pave the way for me to say that, “there are a million things I could do with this life; just none of them have appealed to me so far.” There. I just quoted myself, on something I just put into writing now for the first time. Somehow that seems appropriate, I think because I’ve been turning that phrase over in my head for so long that I feel like it’s not even original anymore.

I could study geography and go on to revolutionize the community planning process with my brilliant ideological reforms to the way we plan stuff right now; right, that would go over well. I could take out a mortgage, as most of my visioning episodes for the future do seem to involve a peaceful domestic life, but they do call it a “mort-gage” for a reason. I could take up the bottle and drink and party myself into oblivion, interspersed of course with unpleasant episodes of reality. I could study the political process and try my damnedest to effect the change I want to see through political avenues. I could barnacle onto one of my dad’s businesses and maybe eventually run the show. I could study the heck out of investing, smart tax strategy, and financial policy to try and play it smart by raking in enough cash to live on without actually hardly working. I could learn a trade or two and be a hard workin’ Joe earning my living through hand-labor. I could be a transient farmer, helping out on organic farms round the world. I could devote myself to music/arts and see if I don’t have some untapped potential in that area. I could “be a writer, laddie buck” and try to turn words into dollars, work from home, and hopefully do some travelling along the way. I could be a career student as well….

For the time being, I’ll not be doing too much of that, particularly not the exotic stuff. I can’t, you see, for reasons that I can’t go into except to say they’re not financial – not primarily, at any rate.

No, I’ll be sitting tight here in the Valley for a bit, biding my time and…..being unconventional.

As usual.

Unlike everyone.

This little Doug. Fir sprang up in some disturbed soil in the field next to my house. It’s likely that it was seeded by the larger Douglas Fir next to our driveway, that a Red-breasted Sapsucker drilled full of holes this winter. It’s also likely that this area will be developed, so when I move, this little guy comes with me.

I’ve never, ever, sincerely regretted a bike ride. I’ve had flat tires, gotten soaked in impromptu rainshowers, ran out of water, been dead beat so I felt I couldn’t pedal any further, been honked at by retard drivers, been honked at by sane drivers because I was a retard cyclist doing stupid things, pissed off bus drivers, flipped the bird to more than one driver, cycled home from Langley, cycled to Cultus Lake and then dragonboated for a couple hours and then cycled home, gone over the handlebars after being cut off and jamming on the brakes, and had all kinds of other wonderful bike-related experiences. Three things I haven’t done, which perhaps disqualify me from being a true, blue, cyclist, are cycled drunk, cycled naked, or doubled anybody. Neither have I ridden a tall-bike, ridden a unicycle, or texted while cycling. All of those are on the list of fun bike things yet to come. Here’s to all things bike-related!

Of note, just yesterday I was cycling home along the Bevan bike lane, which I usually avoid because it’s hillier than the alternative route, but today I took it because I wanted to do the hill. Guess who was riding the opposite way? The only cyclist I saw riding that day? Abbotsford-Clayburn’s MP, B.C.’s Solicitor-General, and Minister for Public Safety, John van Dongen. As long as I’ve been involved in cycling advocacy, he’s been a strong supporter of more bicycle infrastructure, and someone who really listens to his constituents. He’s a busy guy, yet somehow he finds time to ride his bike to and from work now and again.

And he was taking the hill too.

I believe it was Wednesday, though it may have been Thursday. I woke up some hours before I had to go to work, and tried to turn on my lights, and laptop. Neither showed much of a response, so I figured the breaker had flipped or something. The wiring in our house is kind of assinine, or at least, it’s not designed to accomodate the electrical consumption of people in active residence both upstairs and downstairs. So the breaker flips fairly routinely, usually on Sunday mornings when I’m sleeping in from working late on the Saturday night, and the family is having Sunday breakfast, which means there is an extra toaster on a circuit which is already running several lights and my electric heater.

This day however, the breaker wasn’t the problem. I went upstairs and was immediately struck by how dark everything was. Of course, the power was out throughout the house, which struck me as distinctly odd given that it wasn’t cold enough for anything to freeze on the power lines, and any snow that had been weighing down the lines a couple of days ago had long since melted in the torrential downpour which followed the whiteout. In any case, the power was out and that was that. No problem right? It would probably only be a couple hours at most, and then we could resume life as usual.

Not so fast; we sat around the house a little bit, took out a few candles, the usual for a power outage. My dad hooked up the generator to our pellet stove, so we still had heat, and nobody was particurly hungry, though we joked that now would be the perfect time to whip out some raw food, something we’ve been doing more of lately.

My plan was simply to go to work as usual, and if the power wasn’t back on around dinnertime, I’d take a break from work to bring home some pizza or perhaps some pitas from the Pitapit. Now everybody’s hopes were up; secretly we all like that much better than our usual meals of course, and as a bonus nobody would have to actually cook. Never mind that our meals are always, nearly without exception, hearty and satisfying – the prospect of take-out food, which we might do once a month, is always appealing – appealing enough for some of us to be disappointed if the power did indeed come back on.

So I got ready to go to work; I was parked in front of my dad’s Safari, owing to the fact that our driveway was still only partially navigable, and our usual parking spots were a little inaccessible. He’d have to move his van and that would be that. Well, it wasn’t that easy. The Safari’s got problems with its sparkplugs; moisture build-up  prevents it from starting, and of course, it doesn’t get much moister than it’s been for the past weeks. Sure enough, it wouldn’t start. So until it did, I was good and stuck.

Normally not much of a problem. Hook up a hair dryer to an extension cord, put it under the hood for half an hour or so, and bob’s your uncle. No more moisture. So I went inside to find a hair dryer while my dad hooked up his charging unit to check the charge on his battery. After getting it hooked up, he stared at it for a while, before exclaiming, “Oh! No power!” The charger, hooked up to an extension cord, still wasn’t getting any power of course – the first graphic example of how ingrained electricity at our fingertips is.

We realized that of course the hair dryer wouldn’t work either, but thought we might be able to plug it into the cigarette lighter of my car with my engine running so we wouldn’t drain my battery, if the voltage was low enough for my inverter to handle. So we scoured the house up and down for a hair dryer. No such luck, though my dad had used it mere days ago.

Then SD showed up; she needed an oil filter wrench for Konrad to get his oil filter off. So I accompanied her out to the garage, only to press the button and stare at the door in stupefaction when it didn’t open. “Oh! No power!” I exclaimed. That door, too, needs power to open – it won’t open manually. So no wrench for Konrad. My dad did find a workable substitute in his van.

We still hadn’t found the hair dryer, which just pissed us all off, and made us realize how far up shit creek we’d be in a prolonged power outage, if we couldn’t even find a hair dryer when we needed it. So there I was. There was no way I was getting out of the driveway short of pushing the van down the driveway and onto the road, which wasn’t happening. So I took a seat, and waited for electricity, the invisible god that controls virtually everything we do.

Faced with being rendered completely dysfunctional after losing power for three hours, the ludicrousness of the situation hit us. In these difficult economic times, when we and virtually every person like  us, are completely dependent on a “just-in-time” shipping system to stock the grocery stores, where would we be in the case of a longer power outage? Do we have back-up power? Not really. A generator that’ll last for a few hours is about the extent of it. We don’t even have a woodpile to burn in the fireplace.

As for food, there’s probably a week’s worth of canned food in the pantry, on top of the output from the last shopping trip or delivery from Ladybug Organics. That’s not very much to go by, and yet, probably 90% of people are no better prepared. Is it even possible for an entire city like Vancouver to be prepared in the event of prolonged and widespread power loss? Can we function without refrigerators? How do we cook without electric stoves? The reality is that most of us are woefully unprepared, and would have few alternatives than descending into a chaotic scramble for access to the remaining supplies in grocery stores.

In a day and age when planning for the next vacation is given a far higher priority than preparing for self-sufficiency, isn’t it time we started working together to re-learn the skills of our ancestors, instead of buying video games and home entertainment systems? Isn’t it time we pulled up our bootstraps, lest we get caught with our pants down?

Matthew 6:16 says, “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show men they are fasting. I tell you the truth; they have received their reward in full.” In the Bible, Jesus articulates a similar principle in regard to prayer, and to generosity. When you do these things, fasting, prayer, or giving to the poor, don’t make a big deal out of it. Do it clandestinely, and don’t announce it to the world, is the general message, for so many are so hung up on the impression they make on others, and what others think of them, that it is of highest importance that everyone knows about the good things that they do. In the end, they do these things not for their intrinsic benefits, but for their social benefits.

I have now not eaten anything solid for two days, and very little in the two days before that. For me, this is a real challenge. My dad sure isn’t any help, as he constantly tells me how wonderful his latest meal was, or what he’s going to eat in the next few days! It also doesn’t help to be working in a pizza store, where the aroma of food surrounds me for my entire shift! So far however, I’ve stuck to my maple syrup lemon/lime juice cayenne pepper solution. I haven’t really paid any heed to the admonishment in Matthew to fast clandestinely, it’s pretty much impossible not to talk about it when I haven’t eaten for two days; also, this is a different type of a fast. It’s not really a fast at all; it’s actually a cleanse, done largely for the physical benefit to the body as opposed to the spiritual benefit the fasts alluded to in Matthew are intended for. For some, fasting is a spiritual act meant to temporarily deny the things of the flesh and to build mental resolve. For me those are fringe benefits at best, and I really do this to permit my body a chance to take a rest from constant digestion, and to focus on removing accumulated toxins which are so prevalent in our society. So I will go ahead and tell all the people I jolly well feel like that I’m cleansing, and not think twice about it. As Thoreau writes in Walden “I am resolved that I will not through humility become the devil’s attorney.”

I do not know whether I’ll go the full 10 days, or merely six or seven. I will see how I feel. Thus far, aside from the very sincere knowledge that I will enjoy food more than I ever have 10 days from now, I feel great. I have plenty of energy, and though I’m avoiding intense physical activity, I’ve noticed no undesirable side effects so far. The one concern I have is that this “diet”, if you will, appears to very acidic on the surface, and it’s known that it’s best to strive for an alkaline diet for best health.

I feel extremely compelled to post tonight, so I will. I’ve had a low key couple of days; today I spent a few hours in the Ravine Park Salmon  Hatchery, picking dead coho salmon eggs out of trays, some 2000 all told. We never do manage to pick them quite quickly enough, but do successfully release thousands of coho fry and smolts into Downes, McLennan, Stoney, Willband, and Horn Creeks each year. It’s very rewarding and in an ideal world I’d be more involved. In an ideal world, days would also be around 150 hours long, followed by 5 hours of sleep and some nighttime wandering.

I’ll be doing a detox program starting tomorrow morning; the “Master Cleanse” which I learned about through my friend Jeff. I ought to read the book that it’s based on, but essentially it involves no solid foods for eight days, followed by four days on a severely restricted diet. During those eight days, one ingests only a great deal of water, and a solution of water, lemon/lime juice, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper whenever one feels hungry. This allows the body to take a break from the continual digestion process, and focus on removing toxins. This is the primary function of the lemon juice and cayenne pepper; the maple syrup ensures a sufficient caloric intake to have enough energy to carry on with life as usual. I last did such a cleanse last July, with initially disastrously embarrassing and moderately effective results; dig back to July’s posts if you want the details.

Why am I doing this? While my holidays have not been excessively excessive, they have been excessive and not quite as ascetic as I’d hoped. Asceticism is easier when the pantries are not stuffed with temptations, which is not likely to happen at my house anytime soon.

Today, I also read Thoreau, the book that HH gave me last Christmas and which I’m only getting around to now. I read in the bathtub, and chose Thoreau because I realized I was wasting my time with Barth. Thoreau speaks to me much more strongly than Barth ever has, and though he writes with complexity and adroit use of the English language, he’s not near as long-windedly verbose as Barth, and addresses much less abstract concepts.\

Some Thoreau gems to close off this post. The thing with Thoreau, is you often can’t quote a single soundbite. You need the whole damn paragraph for it to flow and make sense. Oh well.

“What I have heard of Brahmins sitting exposed to four fires and looking in the face of the sun; or hanging suspended, with their heads downward, over flames; or looking at the heaves over their shoulders, until it becomes impossible for them to resume their natural position, while from the twist of the neck nothing but liquids can pass into the stomach, or dwelling, chained for life, at the foot of a tree; or measuring with their bodies, like caterpillars, the breadth of vast empires; or standing on one leg on the tops of pillars – even these forms of conscious penance are hardly more incredulous and astonishing than the scenes which I daily witness. The twelve labours of Hercules were trifling with those which my neighbours have undertaken, for they were only twelve and  had an end; but I could never see  that these men slew or captured any monster, or finished any labour.”

“Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superflously coarse labours of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them.”

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

“A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed under even what are called the games and amusements of mankind.”

“What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true to-day may turn out to be falsehood to-morrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilising rain on their fields.”

“Practically, the old have no very important advice to give the  young, their own experience has been so partial, and their lives have been such miserable failures, for private reasons, as they must believe; and it may be that they have some faith left which belies that experience, and they are only less young than they were.”

“I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors.”

“One farmer says to me, “You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make bones with’; and so he religously devotes a part of his day to supplying his system with the raw material of bones; walking all the day whiles he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plough along in spite of every obstacle.”

“The greater part of what my neighbours call good, I call bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good behaviour. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?”

Off all these quotes, it is the last that my current inner being identifies most strongly with.

I’m a poor excuse for a birder the last couple of years, and I can notice it when I do manage to get out in the field. My audio identification skills are rusty; I hear bird calls, and know that I should be able to identify the species, but it doesn’t come to me like it would have four or five years ago when I birded more frequently. Having been a birder since the age of 7 however, it’s something that’s ingrained in me, and not easily lost.

Yesterday I did make it out to participate in the annual Christmas Bird Count, an event I’ve participated in for the last few years. As usual, I covered Downes Bowl and then joined up with some other birders to cover Willband Creek. Time issues limited me to only two hours or so in Downes, which produced around 21 species in total; this is a fairly typical total for me in Downes, and better than I’d expected with the deep snow everywhere. I believe it beats last year when I only had around fifteen.

Highlights included finding all five species of woodpeckers: Red Breasted Sapsucker, Hairy Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Northern Flicker (Red-shafted), and Pileated Woodpecker. Two large cedar trees sported a great find – three Flickers and my Pileated, all congregated in the same location. Finding a Pileated is always a thrill; they are such magnificent birds. This one was rather comical, as he made every effort to stay on the opposite side of the tree from me, so I would circle around, and the bird would look up in alarm and quickly rotate around the tree to disappear from sight once again.

In the marsh by the boardwalk were two Great Blue Herons, looking stiff and sluggish, as well as two Hooded Merganser, a few Mallard, and a Gadwall, not to mention a wooden looking beaver that I only noticed when I scanned the entire marsh with my binoculars.

I always hope for some owls in Downes, but rarely have any luck on count day. Today was no exception, but I did spot a Barred Owl very early the next morning while driving on Sunnyside Avenue. I stopped the car, got out and walked around right underneath the powerline it was perched, and it didn’t even fly, doing little more than swivelling its head around as I walked circles under it. Finding owls is always magical; it’s not uncommon for me to catch sight of a wraith-like barn owl swooping over the road late in the evening when I’m out driving around, for work or pleasure. Owls have such a strong presence, an aura, that surrounds them.

Later I stopped in at Stoney Creek, where I spotted a Ruby Crowned Kinglet and a Cooper’s Hawk, as well as two feeder birds, Pine Siskin and White Crowned Sparrow that would likely have been missed if not for the bird feeder. Then I joined David, Ted “The Goshhawk”, and Vincent at Willband, just west of Stoney Creek, where they were just finishing their tour of Willband. Willband was very dead, as the deep reservoirs of water that normally harbour thousands of waterfowl was iced and snowed over, and there was hardly a waterbird in sight. Highlights here were  a Rough-legged Hawk, a very similar species to the common Red-tailed Hawk, but lacking the red tail and appearing darker overall. This bird tends to move north during the winter months, and isn’t around these parts at all at other times of the year, unlike the red-tail. The Rough-legged was a life bird for me. Also here was a Northern Harrier, skimming low over the fields, just as we were entering our vehicles to head off.

All in all, a good count and an even better excuse to spend a day tramping around the countryside. My aspirations, after all, don’t amount to very much more.

Wednesday morning I woke up, as did most of us, to a blanket of white draped over everything. I’d read that a Northern Hawk Owl had been seen up around the McKee area early in December, so it looked like a perfect place to go for a holiday excursion – accessible by car and not something that would take up my entire day (I had to work and run some errands yet that day). I hadn’t, however, counted on this much snow.

Getting up McKee was a difficult drive; the snow was still fresh and it’s essentially one big hill. It’s called McKee Peak for a reason. If I thought the drive was difficult, finding parking was another story altogether, as all the roadsides were no more than deep snowdrifts. Eventually I parked, somewhat dangerously, on the shoulder but a little too close to traffic for my liking.

Open Woods

The hike itself was fairly short, but stunningly beautiful. There were “private property – no trespassing” signs everywhere, but I was fairly certain that this was in fact a legitimate mountain bike trail, so I kept on marching.

Perhaps marching isn’t the world. Galumphing might be more appropriate. Stopping and starting with my head pointed straight upwards, scanning treetops for owls. So far only the persistent din of a flock of Black-Capped Chickadees, and a Downy Woodpecker. Somebody had been here already this morning, as there were some partly snowed in tracks leading the way. Some fourty-five minutes in, I turned around, only because by now I was afraid that somebody would call a towing company over my park job, and I hot-footed it down at breakneck speed, knowing that in my desperation to find a parking spot, I’d probably pushed the limits a little bit. I really need a jeep.

On the way down, I decided I wanted a shot of snow-covered Abbotsford from the viewpoint on Mckee Road, which again necessitated the finding of a parking spot. This involved much driving and spinning and verging on getting stuck in snowdrifts, after which I gave up and and drove down the hill a ways and parked on  a sidestreet, from where I found a trail heading back up the hill. Halfway up this trail I found the following gem:

Giant Rhododendron

By the time I reached the top, heavy flurries had re-started and the view had disappeared. It hadn’t really been a view of Abbotsford at all; more Matsqui Prairie, but exquisite all the same. While there, I decided to visit the rhododendron grove at the corner of McKee and Whatcom. Not many people know about this patch; here there are 100 year old rhododendrons that were planted by Dr. McKee. They have trunks up to 60 cm across and tower over your head. I’ve never been here in the winter before; only in summer and fall. Neither have I ever visited the grove in bloom.

Inside the rhododendron grove

These rhodos are threatened by development; there are plans to develop either housing or commercial on the site, something I’ve fought against, but to date the city has only agreed to move one or two of these amazing plants, citing cost and previous decisions by council.

And no, I never did see the Northern Hawk Owl.

5:00 a.m. seems to be my writing hour. Got home from work about an hour ago, and I’ve decided not to sleep yet because I need some work done on my car and if I sleep I’ll never get up in time to make sure it gets done. It’s how I function – if I know I’m going to

a)not hear my alarm or

b) hear the thing but ignore it no matter how often it goes off

I just don’t sleep until after what I have to do is done. My holidays, essentially, are all about work. I’ve yet to really take any time for myself, though I am tremendously looking forward to Dec.27, on which morning I will arise at 6:30 a.m., extricate my binoculars from whichever cranny they have been left to languish in for far too long now, and proceed to spend the entire morning and part of the afternoon scouring Downes Bowl, Fishtrap Creek, and Willband Creek, for birds, writing down every little winged, feathered, marmel which so much as dares to flit across the range of my binoculars. This is part of the annual Christmas Bird Count, in which I have participated for several consecutive years now. I will wear gloves, and I will not eat Chinese afterwards.

The other event of significance is the Michael Franti & Spearhead concert, either New Year’s if I’m free or the night before if I’m not free for the New Year’s One. It will be epic, because I do not go to many concerts, and it is Michael Franti.
Other than those, I will make a shitload of money so I can enjoy NOT paying tuition next January. That’s right; I will not be in school, nor will I be writing for the Cascade, nor will I be on the Student Union, nor Students for Sustainability. I will however be joining the “I’m single and making way more money than I really need to live on because I don’t pay rent” club, and squirrels and Steller’s Jays will play a much bigger role in my life than they ever did before, as I’ll be putting to practice my naturalistic skills and emulating their behaviour.

And who knows, with the economy nosediving like this, maybe there’ll be squirrels and hazelnuts on the dinner table as well.

The Sunday before last I took part in a game of street-hockey, or “shinny”, as it’s affectionately termed. After a solid three hours of pounding the pavement, my feet were raw, I knew I had some big blisters coming, I was out of breath, exhausted, but I hadn’t felt better in weeks. In a learning style assessment activity that my Sustainable Living Leadership Program group did in August, I learned that one of my primary modes of learning is kinesthetic; that is, motion, physical activity, athletics, all that sort of jazz, are an intrinsic part of how I experience the world and relate to people.

Throughout elementary and high-school, organized sports were perhaps the key part of my identity. And I was a purist. I’d play as hard in practice as I would in a game situation; I’d put in the same effort outside on the pavement as in the gym at practice. In the skill-department, I was reasonably skilled; I was always in the starting five in basketball or starting eleven in “foetbal” (soccer). I didn’t, however, put the work in to stay competitive; I was mainly there to have fun and enjoy the sport; not to win at all costs and thereby let the sport run my life. Even today, I can play table-tennis, badminton, tennis, or pool for literally hours on end, trying to perfect my technique and often running myself ragged.

Even away from the gym, I lived and breathed sports. In Gr. 4, my mom knew I obsessed over the latest happenings in pro sports; she’d put out the sports section of the Vancouver Sun next to my oatmeal in the mornings, and I’d literally read and re-read that section a dozen times, poring over all the stats until I knew the top five scorers on every NHL team. I listened to every Grizzlies game, every Canucks game, every Lions game, hell, I even followed the Abbotsford Pilots. I was the consummate fan. It wasn’t even a social activity; I just enjoyed it so much that I pursued it, not really caring whether anybody else shared my interest or not. To psychoanalyze from an athletics perspective, that’s proven to be a trend.

Eventually I realized the folly of all this; the folly of putting so much attention into something that didn’t affect me tangibly and took up huge amounts of time and energy, not to mention the tragedy of the degree of identification in our culture with professional sports. I came to understand how professional sports are a tool to distract people from the real issues; something to fill up the evenings so people don’t think too deeply about things that really matter. The illogicality of ‘cheering on the home-team’ also hit me – how genuine are our loyalties if they’re simply based on territory? Are they not blind loyalties? Isn’t this what instigates wars?

So I decreased my level of interest in pro-sports, but try as I might, I’ve never been able to eliminate it. In moments of distraction, I still find myself absently perusing the Canucks stats; reading up on the latest game, or catching a game on Hockey Night in Canada (admittedly, half to listen to “Grapes” wallow in his self-righteousness). I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to completely wrest myself away from pro-sports. I’ve gone through periods of abstinence, but I’ve always come back when I need a mental distraction, in full consciousness of the folly of full-grown men being paid millions to chase a little black disc around an ice-covered surface, for example. Even more so, the folly of the thousands who will cough up large sums to watch.

I’ve seen so many hockey games that you’d think they’d be getting repetitive by now, but that’s not the case. I enjoy every one as much as the last, though my interest in basketball and baseball has declined precipitously.

What can I say? I guess the Canadian mentality has permeated into my being. We are a nation that prides ourselves on our hockey. So as silly as it may seem, I say, Go Canucks! The Sedins and Lui will bring you a cup. Go Canada! Win some Olympic Gold in 2010! I’ll probably root for them as long as I live, so I may as well stop pretending I don’t care and simply enjoy the odd game now and then.

There you are. My sports addiction confession.

I’ve been writing all day for impersonal reasons; the Cascade Newspaper, e-mails, and U-PASS advocacy. It’s time to write something for myself for a change, now. There is so much I could write on; economic concerns are front and center, of course, as is the U-PASS and my thoughts about the majority vs. minority issue, and appreciating the bigger picture. I think I just want to focus on the awesomeness that was my bike ride today.

I didn’t really need to be anywhere in particular, but needed to get out and get some exercise so I decided to cycle over to the gym. I could have simply gone to the MRC which is only 5 minutes by bike from my house, but instead I chose to go all the way across town to the UFV gym where I can workout for free. This way, by cycling, I’m all warmed up by the time I get there, so I can get right to the workout without a warm-up session. It’s getting quite chilly these days, and since my Apollo Club Tourist has an abundance of metal parts, the warmth gets sucked out of my hands real quick. I don’t really bother wearing gloves  just yet though; not quite cold enough for that.

The University is about the furthest destination I could have within Abbotsford, short of Sumas Mountain or the residential on the far east side. Yet on my bike I can get there in 25 minutes and not have to worry about parking at all; it saves me gas $ so I can go on long midnight drives and still break even financially and emissions wise. Please don’t judge me for that; it’s a sanity retention tactic the necessity of which I regret.

By the time I get to the University today, the gym has just closed. Damn. Should have checked the hours today. I don’t really mind however; the main thing was getting my cardio, and by now I’m breathing hard and breaking a sweat. I always feel that somehow my day’s been unsatisfying when I go the entire day without getting any significant physical activity. I’m not on the level of a Randonneur yet; Randonneurs go for long 100, 500, 1000 km. rides, sometimes lasting for several days, but I’m getting there, and a few modifications to my posture on the bike and I should be able to attempt that.

Meanwhile, on my ride through Abbotsford, I realize how much I really do love this city. The more time I spend elsewhere, the more I realize how many ways Abbotsford comes up short, but the city’s coming along. There are still so many interesting nooks and crannies that give it some character; have you seen the medieval architecture on Langdon Avenue? Or the specialty bakery dealing in wheat, sugar, and gluten free products across the street from it?

I’m really enthused by the growing coffee shop music culture. Nearly every weekend you can drop in at a coffeeshop and come across some live entertainment, usually just a local performer or group trying to spread their reputation a little bit. Sometimes, like today at Seven Blends, just a group of friends showing support for each other; sometimes a destination event drawing a sizeable crowd. Ethical Addictions is perhaps the pacesetter in terms of being a place for young people to hang-out and enjoy some live shows. It’s become the east-side place to be if that’s what you’re looking for. City Blends Mt. Lehmann is coming to fill that function on the west-side, hosting live shows almost every Friday. I see these shows as a great warm-up if you’re planning to spend the evening at one of the local pubs, of which the Duke of Dublin is certainly the star attraction in this city, though the Bull ‘n Raven has great location and atmosphere as well.

If the outdoors is your thing, well, Abbotsford continues to expand and develop, but if you know where to look, you can still find some great places to go for a quiet walk. There’s been some controversy over it, but the Discovery Trail will be a great recreation corridor for the city, going through some of Abbotsford’s best parks – Fishtrap Creek, Douglas Taylor, Downes Bowl, Horn Creek, Willband Creek, over Sumas Mountain, and then McKay Creek as well. On it you will be able to avoid the monotony and sterility of the farmland and dykes, and if you choose, go cross-town in one shot.

On the way back from UFV today, I stop in at Lifecycles to make some enquiries, and then, spying a rare sight -a fellow cyclist – I opt to follow him down King Road instead of going through town like I normally would. He doesn’t set an insane pace, but he’s obviously just a little better equipped and I do have to push to keep up. He’s one of those “true cyclists” – dressed in skin tight aerodynamic clothing. I’ve never been a fan – sure, it’ll give you some added efficiency, but I dislike the hassle of putting it on and taking it off every time I get on and off my bike. Moreso, I love the casual appearance of cycling in my street clothes; it combats the impression of cycling as an exclusive transportation method that only a few people are equipped for; I’ll ride in whatever I happen to be wearing and pack along some raingear, and slap on an ankle-ring to keep my pants out of my sprockets. In Europe you won’t catch people in cycling tights; cycling is just how people get around and you don’t need much special gear.

So I end up going north on Clearbrook where I hog the one lane in the overpass so some impatient driver doesn’t try to squeeze through the narrow space between me and the centre line. Some guy in a huge truck guns it as he roars past me when the one-lane becomes two; from his acceleration rate he seems angry, and I can’t help it; I give him the finger. Probably he wasn’t even overly pissed, that’s just what his car sounds like, but it still gets under my skin. I haven’t had any accidents yet, but I’m still fairly jumpy on the road. Not like some – my buddy Trevor’s had two recent accidents, and I once came across him on his bike while I was driving, and I heckled him a little, and before he saw it was me he’d growled at me to “back-off, buddy.” Justifiably, he’s on pins and needles when cycling in Abby; between us and the other cyclists, we’re educating Abby’s drivers one at a time. Perilous.

So instead of heading straight down Clearbrook, I detour down Langdon, stopping in at the aforementioned bakery and the library where I take home an armload of books, a number on raw food diets, a book on the future of real estate by Garth Turner, and some others, most of them for my sister. It’s amazing how much you can accomplish on a bike with some planning ahead; I always feel like I come out ahead because of cycling instead of driving, and I dream of the day when South Fraser Way is clogged with cyclists, the Discovery Trail is packed with people, the coffeeshops and basements sport a thriving underground music culture, and development is contained within the current urban boundary, supported by a robust transit network and increasingly densified residential development. I can see myself living here for a long time, working towards that vision. There are many forward-thinking, progressive people  here; more than you’d think. However, I can just as realistically see myself travelling for quite a while and perhaps settling down halfway round the world, should I find someplace or somebody I especially like.

By now it’s dark, and I turn on my lights. My Apollo that was bought used came with this really great retro generator; a headlight and tailight hooked up to a little wheel that runs on the tire’s kinetic motion. As long as you’re pedalling it’ll stay lit. I plan to spend the evening at a coffeeshop, but in the meantime I’ve had a great ride, more convinced than ever that in this city, probably half of all trips or more could be accomplished on a bike by anybody who’s reasonably fit. If we really used our bicycles, cars could very well become the exception rather than the norm, only used for the odd trip to conduct an errand that a bike simply couldn’t handle.

Imagine where our automobile industry would be then. And you know what? Cry me a river. Humans are smart; we’re adaptable; we’d find a way to make the economy work. I’ve no confidence in the consumption based, manufactured obselescence economy, but I’ve every confidence in the power of human ingenuity.

A lot of thoughts simmering tonight, none of which I will elaborate on but several of which I will take time to outline.

A friend posted recently that activism was true education. I could not agree more. I’d like to that statement and add a dimension to it as well. For me, much as I resent the fact, activism is also the primary component of my social interaction. I very quickly get bored and frustrated and out of place when “hanging” with people to whom the word activism is raison d’etre to change the topic or turn up the volume. So I’ve been deliberating the role of activism in my life, and it’s a mixed bag. I want to be able to walk into a social setting and feel at home regardless of the context, but at the same time, if that context isn’t a purposeful one, I find it draining and de-motivating. In short, I suck at “just hanging.” I start pacing, and fidgeting, and staring at the ceiling, and generally being a less than sociable guest.

I have a hard time thinking of a better feeling, socially speaking (not physically or emotionally) than the aftermath of a successful event. The positive vibe created by the passionate airing of ideas and solutions to problems and the spirited social atmosphere which tends to prevail is something I find tremendously uplifting and is something I seek all the time. Perhaps it’s why I’m so frequently disappointed.

So I’ve established that my role is an activist one and that anything less leaves leaves me unsatisfied. Robert Jordan’s epic fantasy The Wheel of Time contains an intriguing concept; that of ta’veren. In the fantasy, the context of the events that transpire is The Pattern; the giant web of life in which each individual weaves his or her own thread. The Pattern is complex; not all can influence it significantly. It can absorb minor changes and weave around them, but only some individuals have the power to influence large-scale change; these individuals are ta’veren.

“sometimes the Wheel bends a life-thread, or several threads, in such a way that all the surrounding threads are forced to swirl around it, and those force other threads, and those still others, and on and on. The first bending to make the Web is ta’veren,” (http://www.generationterrorists.com/quotes/wot/eyeworld.html)

Ta’veren is a neat concept to run with. Are we all ta’veren or are just some of us, like for instance, Martin Luther King or Adolf Hitler, or JFK, ta’veren? Can we all change the world we live and do we have an obligation to try, or should we simply go with the flow and trust that things will work out? How have I changed the world? Will anything I’ve done trigger history-making change? Who can say?

That’s one concept, and for no very good reason, I’d just like to copy the opening to each book of the Wheel of Time, for its poetic and lyric beauty as well as its philosophical relevance, in light of a discussion with an old friend at Afterthoughts last night:

“The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the third age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long passed, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings or endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.”

In a different vein, we all have sacred places. We may not have as strong a connection to our environment, and by environment I mean more than just the natural world, as those who inhabited this land before us, but I think that inevitably most of us develop strong associations with certain places; places we go to for comfort, or for relaxation, or places to visit for inspiration. Places that hold strong memories, or perhaps places that touch a chord deep within us though we may not know why. What are yours, if any come to mind?

All of the places that are sacred to me occur right here in the Fraser Valley; I haven’t yet travelled extensively enough with sufficient duration to really get to know any other places. Most of them are closeby, not more than a 45 minute bike ride, though some are a little further. Some are sacred to me for the memories associated with the people who accompanied me there; some sacred for other, spiritual, or associative reasons.

Most have to do with waterways; salmon have been and are my passion, along with all that sustains them and us. One is the point where McLennan Creek goes under Olund Road, where two tributaries of it meet and converge into one fast riffle before emptying into a deep slow moving pool that serves as excellent habitat for juvenile fish, trout, good hunting grounds for heron and kingfisher, and a well earned respite for the salmon that travel upstream to this point.

Another is up Clayburn Road a ways; just downstream of where two Poignant Creek tributaries merge and form a unique waterfall; one of the most beautiful sites in all of Abbotsford. There are several waterfalls here, most magnificent in mid-winter during high flows, and no salmon can travel upstream of it. It’s where I got stoned for the first time; and where young people like to hang-out at night and build fires. I like during all times; during the day to admire it’s beauty, or during the night around a fire to hear its roar and absorb its wildness. It’s so uniquely un-Abbotsfordian; it doesn’t seem to fit in to this city of farms and flat roads and motorists.

There’s a giant Sitka Spruce along Downes Creek; perhaps the biggest tree remaining near the urban core, and almost no one knows of it. It has to be protected.

All libraries are sacred. They all have their own unique character and ambience and hold the records of that which we cannot afford to forget.

The place where I grew up that is now a parking lot is sacred, especially the crumpy Douglas Fir tree with perfect crow’s nest whorled branches that still stands in what used to be our front yard is sacred. It would have broken my heart if they’d cut that down, too.

A last thought – does loving make one lovable? Or is there more one must do?