I managed to keep away from the early morning beer in the lounge fridge and drowned my sorrows in copious amount of coffee instead.I really didn't know what I was going to do for the day as I was still feeling a bit down but that soon changed.After spending time doing the rounds of the social media circles I grabbed all my gear and walked outside into the mid-morning heat.That's right I said heat.Finally!
The heat wasn't what changed my mood though,it was seeing a familiar face sitting at a table on the motels' verandah.It was Andy,one of the cyclists whom I had met in Beaver Creek some six hundred kilometers earlier.I was amazed that we had bumped into each other again and even more amazed when he told me that the rest of the guys would be along at some stage in the next little while.I sat with him and we chatted enthusiastically about each others trips and he filled me in on what the others were up to and what they were planning to do for the next few days.He was originally planning to leave straight away and camp alone but as the cyclists arrived one by one the group spirit took hold and he decided to hang out and find out what everyone wanted to do that night.For me it was just the tonic I needed to lift me out of my funk and get me smiling and happy with life.
Someone asked me recently if I was on any medication for my depression and I replied that no I wasn't and that the best medication for me was for me to be around friends or people who were positive and happy.Well this situation proved exactly that.One moment I was sitting alone in a motel lounge exchanging pleasantries with the passing crowd, hating the fact that I didn't have anyone to share this trip with and then suddenly I'm surrounded by a group of guys who were,so happy,so positive and most importantly happy to see me.As stupid as it sounds,I felt like I was part of something again.
These are the kinds of weird feelings that wash through me from time to time.It is like a tide of irrational emotions that ebb and flow through my head at regular intervals but with different depths and varying intensities.It is the feeling that I don't belong or that I don't matter to those who matter to me that leaves me feeling that I an living a disjointed life.Like all the other irrational thoughts that,from time to time, creep in to cloud actual reality,they are fleeting and common sense eventually prevails.I know others have experienced this as well as I have discussed it at length and figured out that one of the main reasons we tend to feel alone or ignored or abandoned by those who are important to us is that we obsess about it.While everyone else is out living their lives,working, looking after families and going through the day to day drudgeries of life we tend to wonder why nobody is calling,why nobody is knocking on the door,why nobody cares.The fact is that for the most part,they do care,it is just that they can't be "care-givers" twenty-four hours a day.We need to understand the huge toll that helping people through depression can take on those friends who try to undestand but can't.We need to understand how much our affliction can negatively affect others and we need to honour those who are there trying to help us by trying to help ourselves as well.We need to give back to them.We owe them that and that is why I try to give so much of myself to others so openly.It is my way of saying thank you but in all honesty I think the sentiment is lost on most.What can you do?
Sitting in the dry,blazing heat watching the happily wearly travellers peddle their way back into my life was something that was not lost on me.I realised that I so needed to be around people who were interested in being adventurous and fun and happy with life.It kept me interested in life as well it made me want to share mine with others.It made me want to carry on.
As the group grew over the passing hour or so I saw that there were some new additions and found out that there was Phillipe, a French guy,two Swiss guys(whose names sadly escape me) and one remarkable old guy from Victoria, BC who was fast becoming something of a legend on the Alaska highway,he was 71 year old John Crouch.When he rolled up to the motel I,at first, thought what is this old guy doing out here,but then I saw his shirt and realised he was on an awareness raising ride for Parkinsons disease.I thought,good on him and then spent the next little while checking out his bike,which is pretty much the first thing any of us does when we meet a new cyclist on the road.While I was doing that the rest of the group were decideing what they were going to do and were they were going to stay for the night.I had already paid for another night at the campground and John,the Swiss and the Korean decided to join me.The Mexican foursome and Andy decided that they would ride on further up the highway to join Phillipe who had already left to find the next government campground some 16 kilometers away.The young German couple and English Brian decided not to pay for camping but didn't want to ride any further so instead opted to bandit camp(or rough camp) in a small park on the other side of the bridge leading out of town.I knew that I could catch all of the guys heading out of town so I didn't say my goodbyes but as they left intheir groups just said "I'll see you out there tomorrow."It felt great to be part of the group again.
That evening I sat again at my little lounge table and tried to catch up with my blog and social correspondence on Facebook.I ordered a beer and chatted to some of the locals before spying the four cyclists who had stayed in town for the night.They grabbed a table across the lounge from me and drank beer while swapping stories of the road and life in general.The Swiss and the Korean sat entranced as old John passed on the wisdom of the ages,regalling them with countless tales of a life well lived and amazing them with his feats of apparently ageless athleticism.I packed up my computer and moved over to join them and it wasn't long before John and I realised that we had quite a lot in common.He,like me,was a keen triathlete and had participated in the Ironman Canada triathlon in Penticton and upon further discussion,was coincidently friends with a number of my triathlon buddies in that town.I further learned,once he opened up the full page write-up in the local Yukon newspaper,that he was also a past World Duathon Champion for his age group.I thought that was awesome and we got along famously.
It was a fun night drinking a few beers and talking tall tales with people from four separate continents but as always all good things must come to an end and we were soon cast out of the lounge and out into what we surpirsingly found to be the wildest of weather.While we were inside a huge storm front had moved in and the rain was dumping down in volumes.Luckily for me I had already covered my tent and gear with my big tarp but the other were not so lucky and after the deluge had subsided had found their tents swamped by the flooded campground.There wasnt too much damage done but we all knew there would be no early departure the next day.There would be some serious drying out to be done first.
I wandered around for a while taking pictures post flood and sometime soon after midnight crawled into my little dry oasis in the drenched campground.I had never slept on a campground waterbed before and thanked the lord for the highwalled plastic floor that came standárd in my cheap-ass $20 Mexican Walmart tent.
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