Halfway!

Halfway means completion is possible and no longer daunting.

Halfway is a milestone on any journey, but for me is a bit hard to pinpoint where halfway is, or in fact, was. 

Canada's longitudinal “halfway” point is just east of Winnipeg (day 52).  This is the only reference to halfway that is absolutely certain, for I do not know the final mileage nor the final number of days to reach my goal in St. John’s, Newfoundland.  But let’s assume my trip planning was pretty good at 5,700 miles and 110 days, then day 55 brought me to Fort Francis, opposite International Falls, Minnesota, that is due north of my home in St Paul.  

On the promenade in Fort Francis, with International Falls across the water
Reason to celebrate with ice cream!

If by mileage, then 2,850 miles was achieved on day 60 on the road between Thunder Bay and Sleeping Giant Provincial Park, where some rest days camping with friends may have marked my logical “feels like” halfway point.

The Sleeping Giant, resting in the sunset of the first half of my journey.
Can you see her lying there?

As I write this, I have started across the north shore of Lake Superior and the second half of my journey, realizing that, more than anything else, I can complete this journey! As you know, I have much time to think about things whilst balanced on my wheels, particularly what halfway might really mean for this journey.  Consider:

I just changed my tires in Sleeping Giant, which means this new pair of tires should last the entire journey. (Commercial endorsement: Schwalbe Marathon Plus are the best tires). I have had zero flats thus far.  I hope that incredible record stands in the second half.

Showing blue is the sign of a fully worn tire!

I have passed through three time zones in Fort Francis – Pacific, Mountain, and Central.  Three more to go: Eastern and the two maritime province zones, Atlantic and the half-hour shift in Newfoundland.

Crossing into the eastern time zone, just east of Shebandowan, Ontario.

That once around Superior, I have likely completed well more than half of the vertical gain I can expect on this trip with the Rockies and Cascades, and even the more rolling northern prairies, accounting for the greatest elevation gain behind me.  And of the watersheds, I have completed two out of three watershed passages: Pacific and Arctic, and have passed into the Atlantic watershed for the remainder of the journey, halfway across Canada.  This is amazing to comprehend that the drop of water I experienced in the many rainstorms flowed to the Pacific and the Arctic seas (by way of Hudson's Bay) and now, halfway across, flows all the way to the Atlantic via the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence River.

Crossing into the Atlantic Watershed halfway across the continent, 
east of Atikokan, Ontario

It is conceivable that I have seen more than half of all the trucks go by that I will see. That is a welcome prospect.  The reason is simple: I have more local road options heading east this second half than the limited TransCanada highway this first half. I welcome that prospect.

The prospect of having eaten only half of all the ice cream I will consume on this journey is a welcome prospect.  The same goes for chocolate milk and orange juice.  As I have not had poutine yet (doesn’t seem the best kind of ride fare), that prospect still looms in the second half. The best seafood is yet to come.

I have been exposed to two languages thus far – English and First Nation tongues.  I have two to go – English and a lot of French.

Though hard to predict, I have only taken half of the photos I can expect to take, including selfies! And speaking of self, I will likely not lose the same amount of weight this second half as the first.  Weight loss on long bicycle trips follows a parabolic curve – the lesser the continuing loss, the longer the journey. But lean is still a prospect. And to think my hair and beard are only half of what they will be - maybe a barber will arrive in the second half; then again, it is curious to see what shaggy really looks like!

At nine Warm Showers hosts, it is possible I will have that many more this next half.  What a joyous prospect to learn about different cultures through this network.  There are many more hosts in the eastern half of Canada than in the western half.   

It is possible that I have many more occasions to answer the question, “where are you headed?”  The population and number of towns and the potential for interaction are much greater in the eastern half of Canada.

Due to that greater population prospect, it is also possible that I have seen more wildlife this first half of the journey than the second half will present.  While I have seen bears (8), elk, deer, bighorn sheep, beaver, and many lesser creatures, I have not seen any moose.  They span the entirety of Canada. I am still hoping to see this beautiful, elusive creature.

This elk must just be posing for the travelers to Jasper

Indeed, marking halfway really means “I can do this!”

Can you?  Hopefully, I am only halfway to the number of funds I will raise on this trip.  If you haven't already, please consider donating to any one of the causes around education I am riding for.  Please visit my ride website for more details: https://z.umn.edu/PeterbikesCanada

If You Could Read My Mind. . . (while riding)

Many people ask me if I listen to music while I am riding all day.  I do not.

Many people wonder if I get bored when I am riding all day.  Sometimes, yes, but mostly no.

Many people ask me what I think about while I am riding all day.  Not much, but a lot.  

OK, that doesn’t make any sense, but it is true if you think about it.  Riding long distances clears one’s mind of normal day-to-day thinking and the stress associated with that thinking.  It takes a few days, but riding is great therapy for mind-clearing.  What follows is a typical “if you could read my mind” translation, not always in such proper form, however.

 

What kind of bird was that?  Pretty call.

Truck ahead, check behind.  Ok, no issue. . . brace for windwash!

Shift.  Oh, yes! That’s better . . .

God, what a view!

How did underwear get there?I don't want to know.

Oops. Caterpillar!  Swerve.

Fucking gravel!

Ouch – pinch in left shoulder.  Drop to aerobars.

Thirsty. Take water.  Drink more.

When will this rain stop?

Another bungee cord . . . oh, that’s busted. Already picked one up

Scissors?  How’d that get there?  Stop, let’s see ‘em [small pair, perfect.  Keeper]

Wait, is that a good rag to wipe my chain?

Is that a bear?  Stop. Watch. Cute fella.  Better ride opposite side.  No traffic, cross. Stay there, fella!

Damn, this headwind!  When will I get a break!  Grass still blowing the wrong way.

Another single glove. Coulda had a mismatched pair by now!  Where were they when it was really cold?

I don’t understand people that throw their trash.  Sick!

Poor thing.  Raven.  Common and dominant here. One less.

Fucking cracks!  Annoying!

Am I really going this slowly?

Could that be the summit?  Or a false summit to trick me? Grind on.

Cute town.  Quiet. Actually, a bit desolate.  Really wide streets.  Was it really so you could turn a horse-drawn wagon around?

More shiny grain bins.  Few large terminals.  I suppose they want to control their sale point and maybe their type of crop stored?

Ride the line – it seems smoother.  Steady . . . damn cracks!

Ahh, cherries!

To go: voy, vas, va, vamos, van!  [to go - practicing Spanish verbs on boring stretches]

Ravens, blackbirds, and meadowlarks, oh my!

One red children’s shoe.  Really? “but Mommy I don’t LIKE this shoe!”

That is NOT Lipton’s tea in a bottle.  That’s disgusting. Do they pee while driving the truck, then toss it?

What the heck is THAT?  The big trucks haul big stuff here.  I suppose it is more economical but maybe that is why the shoulders suck.  No idea what that machine is used for. Glad they went a bit wide.

Cut grass there?  Such a big yard in the middle of nowhere, yet it is cut and manicured.  Canadians do like their cut lawns and driveway verges as if to mark their domain in some way.

Who knew canola could be so pretty when booming?

 

What’ll my next blog be?  Maybe I could write about an open mind, but is it really wide open?

[Repeat from top]

Eugene, Kuroki and Ukraine

In the dimness of the narrow hallway, Eugene, shirtless, just awake, asked me “are you going to write a book?”  No, Eugene, but I will write your story.

It was Sunday morning.  Had camped in a mosquito-infested spot in Lanigan, Saskatchewan, and scrambled to get going on a brilliant day.  The winds in the morning were, sadly, blowing in the wrong direction again, thus a headwind to push through. In spite of that, the countryside was beautiful, verdant, and farmed, yet sparsely populated.  The wind died down a bit in the afternoon as I approached Wadena, expecting to stay there the evening.  I scouted the town and was a bit disappointed.  No motels and the municipal campground was not that great and required registration at a city office – on a Sunday?  As it was getting to be a bit late in the afternoon, I sat on a picnic table, studied where the next town was on Google maps (nothing of any size), and as I scrolled in, the tiny town of Kuroki popped up indicating a Kuroki Hotel and Motor Lodge.  The skeeters now having found me at the campground suggested I call the motel.  “Yes, we have a room.  Just give me your name, and I will hold it for you.”  

Decision made, I pedaled 14 of the last of my 84 miles that day into Kuroki.  As I pedaled on the gravel roads looking for the motel, I found it on Main Street which consisted of a handful of buildings, many boarded up.  From the outside, the El Kuroki Hotel is not the image of a motor lodge I came to expect.  It was quite ragged on the outside, the worse for wear, and made me wonder if I had made a mistake.  (I had made some mistakes in other accommodations).  

The El Kuroki Hotel- originally built by a Californian, hence the motif

There was no obvious entrance to the "court” so I parked my bike and walked through a non-descript door, arriving at a darkly lit bar.  Sandy, a blonde Danish gal said, “you must be the biker” and welcomed me to their place.  Now, this bar is interesting for all the autographed $5 bills taped to the walls and header over the horseshoe bar, a tiny kitchen open to the bar, and a very large Ukrainian flag hung over a large screen TV, shielding a half dozen or so slot machines.  Behind the kitchen counter stood Eugene, a burly, mustached chef with a long ponytail and a wide smile, who also welcomed me as he was busy tending to phone-in orders.  

Sandy tending a customer at the bar with whom I chatted at length,
and Eugene tending the kitchen with an ever-present smile.

There were no other customers when I first arrived, so I thought to myself “how can they survive?”  Kuroki has a population of only 50 people and interestingly was named after a Japanese General who visited the town following the Sino-Russian war.   Business dies in places this small. Sandy showed me to my room, a small, yet spotlessly clean room. I made sure that the bar would remain open for some food – “oh yes, for a while yet” – and so I went to shower up.     

I returned shortly to the bar – it was about 6:00 pm and there were some other customers awaiting take-out orders.  I chatted with one customer for a while as my pizza was being made who lives 20 miles away.  Now, often in small bars like this one, in small towns like this one, pizza crust is ready-made.  Not so here.  Eugene told me he makes his own dough and sauce and grates a 50lb block of mozzarella cheese.  I took note of how many pizza boxes were flying out the door.  And of course, as customers were awaiting their orders, they either had a drink or worked the slot machines or both. 

The pizza was fabulous.  Now I understood the nature of this business, of their business.  When things had slowed a bit, Eugene came over to chat with me, asking about my trip and telling me of another bicyclist that stopped by who was at the end of a world tour. Eugene never got his contact information as the biker was planning to write a book. He wanted to read that book!  He seemed fascinated by the mere concept of a bicycle trip, and I was fascinated by his business.  Turns out the slot machines behind that large flag are owned and issued by the government. There are only a fixed amount of machines in the country (to appease the anti-gamblers) and every establishment gets an allotment and cannot get any more unless the business is brisk, in which case some other establishment loses theirs.  Interesting system, yet according to Eugene, the government gets the lion's share, and he “the crumbs”.  He feels a bit guilty about having the machines, but he said he needs every revenue source possible but seems pleased it is limited in this way.

Finished with my pizza, and a bit stiff from my 84-mile ride, I took a walk around the town as I often do.  There is not much to this town, but on the western side, I spotted the Ukrainian Church, tucked amidst the trees, and across from the cemetery.  I have known about and seen some evidence of a Ukrainian presence, even in Landigan where I had come from.  I was fascinated to see this church, basking in a warm glow of a setting western sun while considering this Ukrainian connection to Canada a bit more. 

Sts. Peter and Paul Ukrainian Catholic Church - Kuroki

There were three 3 waves of migration: the first two documented immigrants arrived in 1891 with upwards of 150,000 by 1914. These immigrants were escaping oppression as part of the Russian Empire, lack of land and dwindling partition of land for families to continue farming.  Many settled in Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba with the promise of land to homestead.  Indeed, most of the towns that I have traveled through were founded around the early 1900s and were solidly Ukrainian. 

Interestingly, certain immigrants (about 80,000) were considered enemy aliens during the First World War based on the region of the Austro-Hungarian empire from which they originated (Galicia), and they were interned in labor camps.  The second wave of immigrants came after the first war as the Soviet Union was formed, and were welcomed into communities that already had a large diaspora, with some settling in the eastern industrial regions as a labor force.  The third wave came after World War II and into the 1950s.   

Canada now hosts the third-largest population of Ukrainians outside of Ukraine and Russia.  Sadly, there may yet be a fourth wave due to the current Russian invasion of Ukraine that continues to play out as this is written.

Back in that darkened hallway, I chatted with Eugene.  He was getting ready to head out to his farm where he grows oats, wheat, and two types of canola.  He spoke of his own Ukrainian heritage – his grandparents emigrated in that third wave to escape Stalin’s oppression. To this day they still honor Holodomor – a day of starvation - Stalin’s brutal, artificially imposed famine in Ukraine that killed close to 4 million Ukrainians. 

We parted ways.  I managed to stop in every town between Kuroki and Canora to find the Ukrainian church (either Ukrainian Catholic or Ukrainian Orthodox) as a way of honoring those still battling the current oppression.  In one of those towns – Rama – I had paused by the side of the road to take a break from the oppressive headwind when a farmer stopped by in her pickup to inquire if I needed help. During the course of our 10-minute conversation in the middle of the road, she told me Eugene has the best pizza.  He is well known in these parts.

St. Michaels Ukrainian Orthodox Church - Rama

St, Johns Ukrainian Orthodox Church - Buchanan

Ukrainian Orthodox Church - Canora

Ukrainian Catholic Church - Canora

Historical Source: https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/ukrainian-canadians