The one thing an be gauranteed about the down times is that as soon as they appear they vanish and ,as has happened so many times before, the light in my head went on and I got out of bed,put on my bike gear and went out for a ride.It was around 4:30 pm and if you had told me a few hours earlier,when I was trying to escape from the world,that I would be on the highway cranking out 60 kilometers of speedwork I would have told you to bugger off and leave me alone.It is so strange,these feelings that come over me in waves.I know it happens to other as well as I've seen it first hand but it is so hard to explain to those who have never seen,nor felt it,exactly what is happening.
Recently a freind posted on Facebook that feelings were something that you could control but I'm not sure if that person has herself suffered from,or ever had anything to do with somene who has suffered from depression.I am here to tell you that the onset of these feelings can't be controlled.It is learning to understand those feelings which allows you to react to them in a positive manner.If we all could control our feelings then the incidents of suicide would be a thing of the past.What I am trying to say is that unless you have dealt with these stupidly irrational but totally debilitating emotions that hit without warning then it is so hard to be able to understand them yourself.The first thing that people need to do is understand that however irrational it may all seem to them,to the person who it is happening to, those feelings are as real as the sun rising in the east every morning.
I have been out on training rides in the past ,and some in the not-so-distant past, where I was cruising along happy with the world when suddenly the dark clouds of my mind sent me into an emotional tailspin.I still don't know what triggers it but it is real and it can totally put me in a state where I am barely able to function such is the depth of the grief that overwhealms me.The sadness that suddely strikes is horrible and I have seen in others as well as myself and makes you question if it is worth living on.That's right,as irrational as it sounds,sometimes the blues that strike can be so bad that,while you don't necessarily contemplate suicide the simple fact is that,at that moment,you no longer want to live.There is a subtle but real difference.Hell I get that feeling all the time!...Does it mean I want to kill myself? No it doesn't.....Does it mean I don't really care if I live or die today? Yes it does,most definately!....If you asked me how I felt about that in January well I would have said that I now was part of something special and worthwhile and that all in the world was good.Now however,most of the time I really don't see the point anymore,I mean really does my life make a difference to anyone at all?It used to.I am one of the lucky ones though as I can sit here and quite calmly and rationally discuss it,much to the horror of some no doubt.,but most can't and because they can't rationalise it and learn steps to deal with it their lives fall apart completely.
What does it take to deal with it then?Well I can't speak for anyone else but for me it has always been the planning of and training for endurance events.My little epiphany came in the year 2000 around the time of the Sydney Olympics.I had really started to suffer from my first waves of depression but didn't realise it until I had quit my job,and isolated myself from everyone and I mean everyone.It became so bad that toward the end I had no money in the bank,I was weeks behind on rent and my diet consisted of anything that the lady at the local grocery store would let me take from the fruit and vegetables that she was about to throw away.The only thing I did do was go to the gym twice a day and train hard,really hard.My gym membership was sending my bank account deeper into debt but I didn't care,as long as I could still go to the gym and hurt myself it was great.The only sensation I recognised anymore was physical pain.That and stupidly hot showers which I had at regular intervals during the day.If I could have found a way to just go quietly in the night and not have to deal with all the dark thoughts anymore I would have welcomed it but it never came.
One day I went over to the backpackers hostel that I had stayed in a few times before and snuck on to one of their computers.I was checking out race sites and events that I only wished I could do when I came upon a race on an Australian running site.It was called "The Trans-Australia Footrace" and was to be a run from Perth In Western Australia to Canberra in Australias Capital Territory,a distance of some 4,000 kilometers.Well I couldn't be more excited and went home sraight away and called the race director.He told me that it was an invitation only event and that I would have to submit a resume and all that jazz.I asked him if I could just tell him right there and then and once I told him of my two Ultraman wins and my second placing at the Canberra Deca-Olympic Dist Triathlon he said that I would be accepted.That changed everything but what it didn't change was the reality that I was broke,in debt and unemployed,what could I do?I called an old friend.
My mate Lloyd was the guy who got me into Ironman triathlon in the first place.It was he who convinced me to go to Penticton in British Columbia for my first Ironman,it was he who showed me how to train,how to ride a bike and he even sold me his old bike so I'd have a decent bike to ride for my first Ironman.He was on my crew for my first Ultraman win,he gave me a new bike which I rode to my second Ultraman win and since then has sponsored me for a Double Ironman in Quebec and Ultraman Canada in Penticton.We have shared a lot in the twenty years we have known each other but it was that one phone call in 2000 that sealed our permanent friendship.We had a kind of falling out some time before and had not spoken to each other in a year or so but I could not think of anyone else to call.He owned a pretty successful bike building business and I looked up the number and called his office.His assistant put me through to him and when he answered I just said "Lloyd I'm in trouble,I need some money" and without hesitating he asked how much and what my bank details were.Within a day I had a few thousand dollars deposited into my acount.He saved my ass and that gesture is something I have never forgotten.I paid him back eventually but you can never put a price on that kind of friendship.It was a great lesson for me.
After that I pulled myself together and found myself two jobs,moved into the backpackers hostel and trained the house down to get ready for the run.I contacted a good friend and ultra-legend Bob Brown in England and told him about the race and he was totally up for it and he even said he would pay my $2,000 race entry if I could get him in the 26 man field.One phone call took care of that and we were both in.Sadly though,I could not get the sponsorship required to pay for the logistics of such a huge event and had to withdraw.My mate Bob went on to finish in sixth or seventh and then continued a stellar string of Ultra-runs to become one of Great Britains greatest ever ultra runners.One day,a couple of years ago he heard that I wasn't doing too well and sent me an email saying that if it wasn't for that one phone call from me telling him of the race in Australia he never would have ended up doing the amazing things he has done since his retirement from Ultra-triathlons in the '90's.Sometimes, when I feel like I've acheived nothing in this world,I read that email he sent me and it makes me smile.
From that year on it has always been the physical challenges of training for and racing these events that has kept me going.Even when my enthusiasm for the competiton waned half a decade later,I kept up the training but directed that physical endeavour toward a new love which was bike-touring.Anything to put myself in physical pain.The problem was my depression was taking hold more and more and I was functioning less and less.Work was fine but a social life and a sports life were out of the question and my health suffered right up to the beginning of this year when I made a decision to change.I had to make my health a priority if I was to spend the rest of my life looking after my new love.I couldn't do it if I wasn't happy with myself and even though I'd worked out a way of dealing with the emotional aspects of my illness the physical decline had to stop.That relationship,as you know,ended but my desire to change didn't and the struggle continues as I write this very blog.I am getting fitter,stronger and healthier but now I am beginning to wonder again,is there any point?There probarbly is but right now I just am having a hard time seeing it.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Stuck.
The next morning I was up early to watch some of the Tour de France and as usual, seeing those great cyclists really inspired me to get out on the bike and ride.It started me thinking about the road ahead and wondering just how bad it could possibly be so I pulled on my warm cycling clothes and rode out into the chilly morning glad to be riding free of the burden of the heavy trailer behind me.It was my plan to ride down the highway and check out the next few sections of gravel and see if the stories I had heard of the worsening conditions were accurate.It didn't take long for the confirmation of the stories to rattle loose my good mood .
The first section of gravel was only about two kilometers from town and,of course,was an uphill section.It wasn't too bad though and although I did have to slow down considerably my bike skipped over the loose surface with ease.The smooth asphalt section that followed,combined with the unladed bike gave me way too much confidence and I cranked the speed up and nearly wiped out as I hit the next gravel section.Luckily I held it together and managed to remain upright but noticed something very new but something that I was all too familiar with,corrugations!!Shit!
Now,anyone who has driven any distances on dirt roads (especially Australian dirt roads) will be familiar with the washboard like surface that graded dirt roads soon develop when subjected to heavy traffic volumes on straight,fast sections.This was definately the case here and my handlebars were soon shaking my forearms and shoulders like I was holding onto renegade industrial dryer.Oh lord,what would this be like with the trailer attached?I rode through that section and on to the next before realising that this was a lost cause and turned my bike around feeling a bit dejected about the whole situation.At least there were a couple of photo op's so I stopped and snapped off a few pictures to add to the ever-growing photo album documenting my trip.
I rode back to town and headed for the campground where the group of cyclists had spent the night and found them all sitting around the a table in the RV park's laundry.They were all at different stages of enjoying breakfast and so I sat down and had a coffee while we made small talk as they gradually summoned the motivation to get going.Soon enough they rallied and the international peleton of cyclo-tourists were on their way south to continue their collective adventure.I rode north back to my motel to figure out what to do next.
When I got back to my motel I went into the cafe to have something to eat and moaned to the lady there about my situation before packing all my suff and heading back out to the Information Center to start my second attempt at hitching a ride.After a couple of hours of vehicular rejection I went inside to use the washroom and on the way back out had a chat with the girl manning the Info Center.She was pretty sympathetic with my plight and then suggested that I call the bus company that runs a service three times a week from Tok back in Alaska to Whitehorse.Wow,a bus,that would be awesome so she gave me the number and I called them straight away and was told that the bus would be passing through the next day and that I should be able to hop on no problem.Then she told me that I could catch the bus driver at mid-day the next day as he drove north and confirm with him.Oh well,it was one days delay but at least I would get past the dirt roads and be back on schedule,so it was back to the motel and another night in Beaver Creek.
I settled back in to my cheap-ass room and to celebrate went for another ride,this time it was a speedwork session which consisted of laps of the five kilometer stretch from the immigration hut at the north end of town to the start of the dirt at the southern end.It was interesting to get some speedwork in and it made me realise just how little speed I had.All that pulling the trailer at a slow pace might be great for my endurance training it had done nothing to develop any speed at all.I'd have to figure a way to sort that out over the next two weeks.For now though it was time for a resistance band session and a bad movie on the televison.
The next morning I was excited with the prospect that I would be in Whitehorse that night and a further 400k down the highway.I didn't mind so much not riding that stretch but I did want to get back out there and continue my smash training for Ultraman.It is totally the wrong way to go about it but the plan was always to get fit enough and lose enough weight to finish the race without suffering like I had the previous two times I started (and failed to finish) the event.I don't care at all about how I place in the field,finishing happily will be enough.I watched the Tour de France and then to fill in some time I went for a run and was happy that my knee didn't hurt.Now I had to pack and get ready to meet with mid-day bus and speak to the driver.
Shortly after noon the bus,for want of a bettter word, turned up and my enthusiasm waned.It was tiny!I presented myself to the bus driver and told him I was the guy with the bike who made a booking the day before.He said that he knew about my booking but that I wouldn't be able to go as he was picking up a load of extra freight in Tok and the bus would be full.I could go if I wanted but not my gear.But,I had a booking!It didn't matter,I was screwed and the best he could offer was to be back here at 6pm to see if he had some no shows on the return trip.Oh shit,looks like I had to wait,so back it was to the cafe for an afternoon on the verandah Facebooking,blogging and trying to convince the passing tourists to give me a ride.No such luck and that luck continued six hours later when a fully loaded bus pulled in from the north and the bus driver should his head.I felt like wringing someones neck but all I could do was head back to the motel and check in again.I felt like shit and just wanted to have a shower and go to bed.
The next day I awoke to a bleak,wet morning and delayed my departure form the motel for as long as I could before heading back to the highway for my third attempt at hitching out of town.I knew that standing there in the rain was a waste of time as it is the rare motorist who picks up a soggy hitch-hiker but there I stood wallowing in my misery and wondering if there was any way I could feel more dis-spirited about this whole situation.I was rapidly heading for a all time low for the trip and I wasn't happy about it at all.My mind started to fill with doubts and I just wanted to chuck it all in and hide.
It was about them that the girl from the Info Center came out with a coffee for me and suggested that I give up hitching for the day and that she would call the bus company herself and try to get me on the next days bus.I was so miserable that I just went along with her and sat there as she spoke to someone at the bus company.She handed me the phone and it was the bus driver himself on the phone.He remembered me and after I told him I was now going into my fourth day stuck here in Bever Creek he relented and said that if I broke down all my gear as much as possible he would find a way to get it all on board the next day.I thanked him and wanted to give the girl from the Info Center a hug in thanks but I was far to wet to do anything more than tell her she was a little lifesaver.She told me to go find a room and dry out and I dutifully followed her orders and went back to the motel and shut myself away from the world for most of the day.
The first section of gravel was only about two kilometers from town and,of course,was an uphill section.It wasn't too bad though and although I did have to slow down considerably my bike skipped over the loose surface with ease.The smooth asphalt section that followed,combined with the unladed bike gave me way too much confidence and I cranked the speed up and nearly wiped out as I hit the next gravel section.Luckily I held it together and managed to remain upright but noticed something very new but something that I was all too familiar with,corrugations!!Shit!
Now,anyone who has driven any distances on dirt roads (especially Australian dirt roads) will be familiar with the washboard like surface that graded dirt roads soon develop when subjected to heavy traffic volumes on straight,fast sections.This was definately the case here and my handlebars were soon shaking my forearms and shoulders like I was holding onto renegade industrial dryer.Oh lord,what would this be like with the trailer attached?I rode through that section and on to the next before realising that this was a lost cause and turned my bike around feeling a bit dejected about the whole situation.At least there were a couple of photo op's so I stopped and snapped off a few pictures to add to the ever-growing photo album documenting my trip.
I rode back to town and headed for the campground where the group of cyclists had spent the night and found them all sitting around the a table in the RV park's laundry.They were all at different stages of enjoying breakfast and so I sat down and had a coffee while we made small talk as they gradually summoned the motivation to get going.Soon enough they rallied and the international peleton of cyclo-tourists were on their way south to continue their collective adventure.I rode north back to my motel to figure out what to do next.
When I got back to my motel I went into the cafe to have something to eat and moaned to the lady there about my situation before packing all my suff and heading back out to the Information Center to start my second attempt at hitching a ride.After a couple of hours of vehicular rejection I went inside to use the washroom and on the way back out had a chat with the girl manning the Info Center.She was pretty sympathetic with my plight and then suggested that I call the bus company that runs a service three times a week from Tok back in Alaska to Whitehorse.Wow,a bus,that would be awesome so she gave me the number and I called them straight away and was told that the bus would be passing through the next day and that I should be able to hop on no problem.Then she told me that I could catch the bus driver at mid-day the next day as he drove north and confirm with him.Oh well,it was one days delay but at least I would get past the dirt roads and be back on schedule,so it was back to the motel and another night in Beaver Creek.
I settled back in to my cheap-ass room and to celebrate went for another ride,this time it was a speedwork session which consisted of laps of the five kilometer stretch from the immigration hut at the north end of town to the start of the dirt at the southern end.It was interesting to get some speedwork in and it made me realise just how little speed I had.All that pulling the trailer at a slow pace might be great for my endurance training it had done nothing to develop any speed at all.I'd have to figure a way to sort that out over the next two weeks.For now though it was time for a resistance band session and a bad movie on the televison.
The next morning I was excited with the prospect that I would be in Whitehorse that night and a further 400k down the highway.I didn't mind so much not riding that stretch but I did want to get back out there and continue my smash training for Ultraman.It is totally the wrong way to go about it but the plan was always to get fit enough and lose enough weight to finish the race without suffering like I had the previous two times I started (and failed to finish) the event.I don't care at all about how I place in the field,finishing happily will be enough.I watched the Tour de France and then to fill in some time I went for a run and was happy that my knee didn't hurt.Now I had to pack and get ready to meet with mid-day bus and speak to the driver.
Shortly after noon the bus,for want of a bettter word, turned up and my enthusiasm waned.It was tiny!I presented myself to the bus driver and told him I was the guy with the bike who made a booking the day before.He said that he knew about my booking but that I wouldn't be able to go as he was picking up a load of extra freight in Tok and the bus would be full.I could go if I wanted but not my gear.But,I had a booking!It didn't matter,I was screwed and the best he could offer was to be back here at 6pm to see if he had some no shows on the return trip.Oh shit,looks like I had to wait,so back it was to the cafe for an afternoon on the verandah Facebooking,blogging and trying to convince the passing tourists to give me a ride.No such luck and that luck continued six hours later when a fully loaded bus pulled in from the north and the bus driver should his head.I felt like wringing someones neck but all I could do was head back to the motel and check in again.I felt like shit and just wanted to have a shower and go to bed.
The next day I awoke to a bleak,wet morning and delayed my departure form the motel for as long as I could before heading back to the highway for my third attempt at hitching out of town.I knew that standing there in the rain was a waste of time as it is the rare motorist who picks up a soggy hitch-hiker but there I stood wallowing in my misery and wondering if there was any way I could feel more dis-spirited about this whole situation.I was rapidly heading for a all time low for the trip and I wasn't happy about it at all.My mind started to fill with doubts and I just wanted to chuck it all in and hide.
It was about them that the girl from the Info Center came out with a coffee for me and suggested that I give up hitching for the day and that she would call the bus company herself and try to get me on the next days bus.I was so miserable that I just went along with her and sat there as she spoke to someone at the bus company.She handed me the phone and it was the bus driver himself on the phone.He remembered me and after I told him I was now going into my fourth day stuck here in Bever Creek he relented and said that if I broke down all my gear as much as possible he would find a way to get it all on board the next day.I thanked him and wanted to give the girl from the Info Center a hug in thanks but I was far to wet to do anything more than tell her she was a little lifesaver.She told me to go find a room and dry out and I dutifully followed her orders and went back to the motel and shut myself away from the world for most of the day.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Week One Slideshow .....
Here is the slideshow that I made for week one of my journey
For my father.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Sometimes you have to stick your nose in his business.
Now this post has nothing to do with the day to day of my current cycling trip but it does have a lot to do with the reason I am doing it and that is to raise some awareness of depression in people who you would not ordinarily believe are suffering from the illness.I'm concerning myself to a large percent with the way that people deal with,or should I say fail to deal with depression in men.While there seems no end to the amount of support and acceptance offered to women in the form of organised programs and social support networks the support for men is sadly lacking.For the record I do believe that things are changing for the better but it is at the very basic beginnings of the illness presenting itself that I am concerned with.
It seems that in most western cultures, the stigma of not only depression but the admition of any kind of percieved weakness in men is not generally well recieved by peer groups and the "suck it up and deal with it" attitude is still quite prevalent.In many ways the man is still supposed to be the man and such things are still not as readily accepted as they are among females.I recently lived through this with someone who was ( and still is) very dear to me.She has been going through all sorts of hell dealing with things from a past life that have come back to haunt her mind.Thankfully she is working her way through it and with the right treatment, and in a very large way to the support of her multitude of friends, she has come through the worst and is now on the road to recovery.I am so happy about that and I wish her all the very best of luck for a blessed and healthy future.
One thing that did strike me during that turbulent time was the unconditional love and support her friends gave her,they were pretty amazing to say the least and she is lucky to have so many people that understanding of the crisis that was present.The funny thing,if you could call it that,was that even though many of those same people knew that I too was struggling at times during the process nobody actually sat me down and asked me if I was okay.Well,that isn't entirely true, there was one person who would periodically ask of my welfare as she knew the extent of what I too was going through.I loved her for it and considered her more family than friend but the unconditional acceptance wasn't there.Unlike the acceptance that a female will totally lose it from time to time,with the outbursts being more of a cry for help or a blunt warning,in men these outbursts are viewed differently.That happened to me,I had one major meltdown that has seemingly ended that very special friendship and not one person of the four who were there to witness it have said a single word to find out what it was really about.Not one person who heard about it asked me if I was okay or for that matter wanted to talk about it at all.I do not understand that of my friends!There seems to be less understanding,less forgiveness of men.I do not understand that at all!
I may piss a bunch of people off in writing that and I hope those of you involved can find forgiveness but I believe that it so important to get this message out there that I don't mind paying whatever the price.The point is, if it is blatantly obvious that someone you know is in trouble,then for Gods' sake,stick your nose in their business and ask them if they are okay.Even if it isn't so obvious but you suspect that things aren't quite right then don't take the easy route,instead take a deep breath and stick your nose in thier business and ask them if they are okay.You know sometimes all it take is for that person ,in that particular moment ,to feel like he is part of something,part of a community,part of a friendship,part of anything,to turn him around.Trust me,I know!
In December 1985 I was a 22 year old Restaurant Supervisor of the Portego Lounge,in the Menzies-at-Rialto Hotel in downtowon Melbourne.This restaurant and lounge bar was the feature of the newest and fanciest five star hotel in the city at the time and one very quiet night in particular I didn't take the easy route and without knowing it changed someones life.
It was Christmas Day and the Portego Lounge and the neighbouring fine dining restaurant, The Chandelier Room had finished our Christmas Day service and were preparing for the first "orphans dinner" that the hotel would host.These dinners are something of a tradition in the hotel game as the usually transient staff more often than not do not have family to celerbate Christmas with.I had been to many of these and was really looking forward to the rest of the night .I had duties to perform though and one of those was to clear the hotel of all non-residients and inform all residents wandering the public areas that due to licensing restrictions there would be no public service for the rest of the day and that room-service would cater to all needs for the remainder of the Charistmas Day holiday.
With my duties done I made my way back to the Portego Lounge for one last look around and found a well dressed man sitting in one of the chairs near the bar.I presented myself to him and informed him that service had finished for the day and that he would be able to order whatever he wanted through room service.He told me that he wasn't a house guest and that he just wanted to have a drink for Christmas.I was about to tell him that he would have to leave the premesis but before I could even speak he looked me in the eyes with a look I have only seen one other time in my life.It was the saddest,empty look I had ever seen and it was if he had nothing inside,no soul,no life,nothing!
For a reason that I still can't explain to this day I moved next to this man,who was half my age again older than I,put one arm around him and led him to the doors of the Chandelier Room.When I opened the doors and led him into the opulent surrounds of one of Melbournes finest dining rooms he asked what was going on. I simply said "you are spending Christmas with us." I walked him to the private dining room that was a feature of the restaurant and told the assembled rabble that I had found another orphan and asked the Sous Chef if it was okay for him to join us.He said of course and with that I sat him next to one of our young hostesses.I thought nothing more of it and as far as I know a very merry Christmas was had by all.
About three weeks later,I was on duty,going about my daily tasks when a man walked up to me out of the crowd.He asked to speak to me and we wandered over to a quieter section of the floor.I didn't recognise him at all but once he start to talk to me I knew who it was.It was the guy from Christmas Day.He told me that he wanted to come by and thank me for taking him in that day but when I tried to dismiss it as nothing he held my shoulders within the firm grip of his hands and looked me straight in the eyes for the second time but this was different,he was different.He told me that I had done something for which he could never thank me enough.It seems earlier in the previous year his wife had left him,taking his,house,kids and the life he once knew and loved.He had turned to his own family for help but his father had died mid year and his mother,pining over the loss of her beloved husband, passed away a couple of weeks before Christmas.This left him with no family,in his mind no life and without the strength to look to the future,no reason to live on.He had come into the bar that Christmas night, to drink up the courage to kill himself.
He went on to tell me that my one act of caring and kindness, followed the night of unconditional friendship that he saw among the Christmas orphans had turned his life around.He realised that was what he wanted,to have friends to share the special days with,friends who were happy just be have him around and friends who cared enough to not only praise the best but forgive the worst.He said that I had given him the greatest Christmas present that a man could give and that was his life back,a life of hope and the promise of feeling that he,as a person, would one day matter to someone again.
Fifteen years later,I became that man and the other pair of lifeless,souless eyes that I told you about,were staring back at me in the mirror...
It seems that in most western cultures, the stigma of not only depression but the admition of any kind of percieved weakness in men is not generally well recieved by peer groups and the "suck it up and deal with it" attitude is still quite prevalent.In many ways the man is still supposed to be the man and such things are still not as readily accepted as they are among females.I recently lived through this with someone who was ( and still is) very dear to me.She has been going through all sorts of hell dealing with things from a past life that have come back to haunt her mind.Thankfully she is working her way through it and with the right treatment, and in a very large way to the support of her multitude of friends, she has come through the worst and is now on the road to recovery.I am so happy about that and I wish her all the very best of luck for a blessed and healthy future.
One thing that did strike me during that turbulent time was the unconditional love and support her friends gave her,they were pretty amazing to say the least and she is lucky to have so many people that understanding of the crisis that was present.The funny thing,if you could call it that,was that even though many of those same people knew that I too was struggling at times during the process nobody actually sat me down and asked me if I was okay.Well,that isn't entirely true, there was one person who would periodically ask of my welfare as she knew the extent of what I too was going through.I loved her for it and considered her more family than friend but the unconditional acceptance wasn't there.Unlike the acceptance that a female will totally lose it from time to time,with the outbursts being more of a cry for help or a blunt warning,in men these outbursts are viewed differently.That happened to me,I had one major meltdown that has seemingly ended that very special friendship and not one person of the four who were there to witness it have said a single word to find out what it was really about.Not one person who heard about it asked me if I was okay or for that matter wanted to talk about it at all.I do not understand that of my friends!There seems to be less understanding,less forgiveness of men.I do not understand that at all!
I may piss a bunch of people off in writing that and I hope those of you involved can find forgiveness but I believe that it so important to get this message out there that I don't mind paying whatever the price.The point is, if it is blatantly obvious that someone you know is in trouble,then for Gods' sake,stick your nose in their business and ask them if they are okay.Even if it isn't so obvious but you suspect that things aren't quite right then don't take the easy route,instead take a deep breath and stick your nose in thier business and ask them if they are okay.You know sometimes all it take is for that person ,in that particular moment ,to feel like he is part of something,part of a community,part of a friendship,part of anything,to turn him around.Trust me,I know!
In December 1985 I was a 22 year old Restaurant Supervisor of the Portego Lounge,in the Menzies-at-Rialto Hotel in downtowon Melbourne.This restaurant and lounge bar was the feature of the newest and fanciest five star hotel in the city at the time and one very quiet night in particular I didn't take the easy route and without knowing it changed someones life.
It was Christmas Day and the Portego Lounge and the neighbouring fine dining restaurant, The Chandelier Room had finished our Christmas Day service and were preparing for the first "orphans dinner" that the hotel would host.These dinners are something of a tradition in the hotel game as the usually transient staff more often than not do not have family to celerbate Christmas with.I had been to many of these and was really looking forward to the rest of the night .I had duties to perform though and one of those was to clear the hotel of all non-residients and inform all residents wandering the public areas that due to licensing restrictions there would be no public service for the rest of the day and that room-service would cater to all needs for the remainder of the Charistmas Day holiday.
With my duties done I made my way back to the Portego Lounge for one last look around and found a well dressed man sitting in one of the chairs near the bar.I presented myself to him and informed him that service had finished for the day and that he would be able to order whatever he wanted through room service.He told me that he wasn't a house guest and that he just wanted to have a drink for Christmas.I was about to tell him that he would have to leave the premesis but before I could even speak he looked me in the eyes with a look I have only seen one other time in my life.It was the saddest,empty look I had ever seen and it was if he had nothing inside,no soul,no life,nothing!
For a reason that I still can't explain to this day I moved next to this man,who was half my age again older than I,put one arm around him and led him to the doors of the Chandelier Room.When I opened the doors and led him into the opulent surrounds of one of Melbournes finest dining rooms he asked what was going on. I simply said "you are spending Christmas with us." I walked him to the private dining room that was a feature of the restaurant and told the assembled rabble that I had found another orphan and asked the Sous Chef if it was okay for him to join us.He said of course and with that I sat him next to one of our young hostesses.I thought nothing more of it and as far as I know a very merry Christmas was had by all.
About three weeks later,I was on duty,going about my daily tasks when a man walked up to me out of the crowd.He asked to speak to me and we wandered over to a quieter section of the floor.I didn't recognise him at all but once he start to talk to me I knew who it was.It was the guy from Christmas Day.He told me that he wanted to come by and thank me for taking him in that day but when I tried to dismiss it as nothing he held my shoulders within the firm grip of his hands and looked me straight in the eyes for the second time but this was different,he was different.He told me that I had done something for which he could never thank me enough.It seems earlier in the previous year his wife had left him,taking his,house,kids and the life he once knew and loved.He had turned to his own family for help but his father had died mid year and his mother,pining over the loss of her beloved husband, passed away a couple of weeks before Christmas.This left him with no family,in his mind no life and without the strength to look to the future,no reason to live on.He had come into the bar that Christmas night, to drink up the courage to kill himself.
He went on to tell me that my one act of caring and kindness, followed the night of unconditional friendship that he saw among the Christmas orphans had turned his life around.He realised that was what he wanted,to have friends to share the special days with,friends who were happy just be have him around and friends who cared enough to not only praise the best but forgive the worst.He said that I had given him the greatest Christmas present that a man could give and that was his life back,a life of hope and the promise of feeling that he,as a person, would one day matter to someone again.
Fifteen years later,I became that man and the other pair of lifeless,souless eyes that I told you about,were staring back at me in the mirror...
Beaver Creek.
After hanging out at Buckshot Bettys I went outside and found a guy checking out my bike.When he saw me he asked if I had ridden through the gravel to get here and so I told him my tale of woe for the day.He then asked me if I was going to ride on to Haines Junction which is a further 250 kilometers away.I said that was the plan and he shook his head.Apparently this guy was a foreman of one of the road construction crews responsible for trying to fix the crazy roads here in the Yukon.He told me that he was from Victoria BC andin all his years working the highways of Western Canada these roads were the worst he had seen.Great!He then continued to explain that the next sections were way worse than those I had just negotiated and that I will probrably have to get a ride of some sort.Double Crap!!Oh well,what could I do but to find somewhere to spend the night and let tomorrow take care of itself.No point worrying about it until then.
The next morning I was having breakfast in Buckshot Bettys and was chatting to a a couple of guys from the road crew and they confirmed what I had been told the night before.They also went on to say that the construction continued all the way to Whitehorse some 400 kilometers away which was news that left me thinking that I was in for some long days hitching on the side of the road.The bad news continued though when they asked me what route I would take through British Columbia and when I told them that I was planning on riding highway 97 they infomed me that it was closed due to severe washouts and that it would stay that was for a couple of weeks.Oh lord,time to get the map out and look for alternatives.This was getting ugly.
There was nothing for it now but to try and hitch a ride.I had choice of riding to the place where there was a pilot guide,somewhere down the highway or stay here in town,close to the faciities and put the old thumb out here.I decided to stay in town and after assembling all my gear rode to the local information center and parked on the side of the highway.After about two hours worth of rejection from the southbound hordes I spied a cyclist coming toward me from the south.The cyclist was riding a mountain bike and dragging a trailer which was the off-road version of mine.She was decked out in what looked like team colours and was hauling way more stuff than I which didn't seem to bother her at all,in fact one of the first things she mentined to me was how little stuff I had with me,and my bike,she couldn't believe that.A road bike!!
It turns out that this girl was an Itallian named Michelle and she had been on the road for exactly one year having started in Usuaia Argentina and had ridden through South,Central and now was about two weeks away from completing the North American leg of her journey through the America's.Truly amazing stuff!!She spent some time in the information center before learning all about the area and the road ahead and afterward I took her to the general store so she could buy some supplies.While in the store we sat down and chatted about her trip over a cup of cheap coffee.She was a very interesting girl but man was she ever scatterbrained to the extent that she seemed almost unable to deal with talking to people for any extended period,She could hardly keep eye contact and was up and dwn doing stuff,checking stuff and generally being very sketchy.I figured that she had been out there on the road alone for so long that she was much more comfortable alone than around people.Maybe she was not only near the end of her journey but maybe she was near the end of her wits.I don't know but it was prety cool to spend some time with her.I helped her repack her bags and with a wave goodbye she was off up the highwat headed toward Alaska.I went back inside to have another coffee,spend some time on the old laptop and hopefully try to figure out what to do with myself.I had a chat with the store/gas station/motel owner and after she heard of my plight ofered me a killer deal on a motel room which my soft and sorry ass accepte without any need for further promting.I wanted a comfy bed and a chance to watch the Tour de Fance in the morning.She even through in dinner which was very sweet of her.It wasn't much but it was appreciated.
After an hour or so in my room checking out maps and calculating distances for various routes through British Columbia I noticed,through the window,two cyclists riding up to the store so I went outside to say hello and check out their bikes.They were a couple of Mexican guys who were riding from Anchorage to Guadalajara in Mexico and they were about nine days into their ride.While I was chatting a veritable peleton glided into the carpark and joined us.It seems that a few small groups had met on the road outside of Tok and they had decided to ride together as a large group for a while.I stopped counting after the first ten but took a couple of pictures of the mass of bikes lined up against the fence at the fromt of the store.It was an impressive sight and that was easily the largest number of independant cyclo-tourists I had ever seen in the one place.
On meeting all of the guys a couple of them had told me that they had heard about me from old Jack and a couple of campground operators and were glad that they got to catch up and meet me.I was amazed that the "bush telegraph," as we call it in Oz, was alive and well up here in the northern outposts of Alaska and the Yukon.Seems you can't go very far around here without folks noticing..must be the big Aussie flag flapping behind me on my trailer.We all got on famously and it was as if we had known each ther for ages.It is like that on the road sometimes and I guess it is that kindered sprit thing that applies to all kinds of groups who share a common interest.I told them where the best campground was in town and once beer was mentioned promised to come visit as soon as I finished some blog writing and they had time to set up camp.
About half an hour later I rode the length of town (all eight hundred meters of it) and found the group in the final process of setting up camp.It made for quite the impressive sight as the international group had transformed an empty campground into a mini tent city.I was pretty cool to see just how much ground can be physically covered by tents,bikes and the huge amount of gear that had,just a short time before,been packed neatly into the rolloing community that these guys had formed.There was crap everywhere and it was great!
Knowing that they were not too far away from dinner I hopped on my bike, rode to the local store,picked up a dozen beers and played forward the hospitality that I had been shown by the motel owner just a short time ago.It wasn't much but the guys appreciated the beer greatly and I hung out with them for around ninety minutes swapping stories and finding out all I could about their individual trips.A coulpe of the guys were interested in my bike and how far I was riding each day and they were amazed that I had ridden in one day,the day before,what they had taken two days to cover.I explained that we were on different schedules and that given the amount of daylight,cvering huge distances was just a state of mind.It was loads of fun and as usual I probrably rambled on way too much but hey,I think they enjoyed some of my crazy stories.After some photo's and exchanged Facebook and blog details I was starting to wish I could change my schedule and hang out with thse guys
Before we all knew it the lack of a sunset caught us all off-guard and the clock was ticking well past eleven and it was time to let everyone get to bed so I said my goodnights and told them I would visit in the morning and see them off.With that I went back to my motel and thanked my lucky stars that I had been delayed that day.It was a great chance meeting and a great way to end a day of tough luck, sad news from a friend overseas and concern over what to do to rectify my current predicament.I went to bed with a thousand things going on in my head and sleep didn't come quickly so I was glad of the opportunity to watch some television to take my mind off the worst of the days news.
Canada EH!
One of the positive (I think) side effects of the depression issues that I have is that I am able to kill time better than any person I know.When I first started really being affected by the illness I used to find that I would miss hours at a time without even knowing what happened.I couldn't tell you how many times I used to get all my gear ready to go out training then when I sat down to put on my bike shoes that would be it.I'd either just glaze over and stare blankly into space for hours or just wake up hours later curled up on the couch.I've learned to apply that to be a positive and now I can easily find ways to shut out the sense of passing time by watching the world go by,chatting with anyone or wandering the streets checking out new places.Long haul flights are a breeze as time means little to me now.
So it was for me during my days stuck in Tok waiting for the horrendous weather to clear and for my knee to stop hurting.I walked around checking out the small town which exists entierly on the whim of the passing caravan to tourists who drive up to Alaska in search of adventure.Depending on which direction you are headed it is the first or the last town to you see in Alaska as you drive the ALCAN Hwy.Physically it is a pretty non-descript place but once you dig a little deeper the character of the locals shines through.I had a blast spending an hour or so each morning chatting with the lady who runs the RV park and campground where I was staying.We would sit there chatting away and highjacking everyone who was coming in to check out each morning.I met all kinds of cool people from local retirees who dropped in for the free coffee to old,fat RV drivers loading up the van with more store bought crap,to some of the countless motorbike tourists who ply the back roads of Alaska each summer.It was cool and is the sort of thing I love doing.All this hanging out wasn't getting me anywhere though so I decided that the blue sky morning was a sign to move on and at after three nights in tiny Tok I rolled out well before the town woke up and rode towards Canada wth the highway to myself.
The chilly morning had me again wearing four layers of clothing in order to function properly and not even the first of the endless supply of the days rolling hills could force me to strip down.Even though I felt that I was crawling up the hills this was the best I had felt on the bike for the whole trip and was starting to feel like a cyclist again which made me really start to enjoy the days ride.I had hoped to ride on through the whole day and night for the next day or so to make up some time and get some miles uder the belt so when I stopped for breakfast at the general store of the Indian community at Northway Junction I had covered 80 kilometers and hadn't really noticed the time at all.After a bite to eat,a coffee and of course a chat to the ladies running the place it was off to the border for me.
The next 70 kilometers passed in some sort of strange familiarity as I passed,or thought I passed the same places again and again.In reality all I was doing was continuing to follow the highway around a huge curve in the lanscape where the hills I was riding followed the edges of a huge boreal forest that stretched for miles to the Nutzotin Mountains which stood like a huge barrier of snow capped peaks far to the south.The repetitive scenery was a bit dull but the road itself was fun .I figured that my planned 230k ride to White River would be a no-brainer as,rounding a bend I saw the red roof of the Border City Lodge dominating the landscape of a huge plain below.I knew I was now nearing the border. I had covered about 150 kilometeres and it was only just approaching lunchtime.
I rolled down the long,winding descent to the plains and before long was ordering myself a burger and making myself comfortable in the wam shelter of the lodges small diner.Joining me was a large group of young American tourists who were heading the opposite direction and they were full of interest in my trip and peppered me with questions on all things cycle-touring.One of the girls asked my if I was a triathlete as she noticed a set of aero-bars on my bike,which to her seemed an odd choice to use as a touring bike.I was surprised that she would know about them at all and asked her how she knew about bikes.She then told me that she lived in a Kona and was used to seeing triathletes and their gear all over the place,she then asked me if I had ever done Ironman and I said that although I had done 20 Ironman distance triathlons I had only entered the specific one she meant the one time I didn't go.I told her that I now had shifted to mainly doing longer races and bike tours like the one I was now on.I mentined that this ride,with that specific bike,was for a reason and that I was doing an event called Ultraman at the end of the month.Well,she could barely contain herself and it seemed I had found the third Ultraman Hawaii groupie of my journey.She said that she followed the race every year and was in awe of those guys and gals who could finish one of those events.I laughed and told her not to be too in awe as I had finished a few and assured her that we were all quite normal,for the most part anyway.With that her friends mentioned that time was getting away from them and they were soon gone leaving me wondering just how many more folks I would meet who knew about the silliness of a couple of obscure races which have an alumni smaller than the select group who have summited Mount Everest.I sat around for about an hour drinking coffee and using the lodges computer before setting my watch to Canada time and rolling back onto the highway toward the US border station ALCAN perched at the top of a hill about 4 kilometeres away.
Cresting the long rise from the valley floor had me passing by the US border buldings before rolling down the other side and past a sign welcoming me to Canada.The thing was there was another sign that told me the actual immigration and customs would not be for another 27 kilometers.So where the hell was I?I'll tell you where,I was in a place where the road construction guys have a great sense of humour.The road under my wheels turned from a nice smooth asphalt to a rough chipseal and my speed slowed considerably as the wheel of my trailer rumbled along noisily behind.If I thought that was bad enough then the first of the Yukon's famous gravel sections would make me wish for roads as nice as the rough chipseal I was cursing.I quite literally got smacked in the back of the head and brought around to some serious realities about the next few hundred kilometers as I negotiated the next 800 meters.
As I approached the gravel section I noticed just how much dust the vehicles before me were kicking up and I thought it best to wait for a break in the traffic before making my mad dash to the top of the steep little climb.I chose my time and sped,well I should really say wobbled,along the start of the dusty section and as I slowed to a crawl up the hill a semi-trailer thundered up the grade from behind kicking up a cloud of dust so thick that I could not see anything at all and niether,apparently could the driver of the RV following the big truck.I only heard it for a second before I felt the blow to the back of my head and thankfully that second was enough to make me duck and veer to the right.The wing mirror of the RV hit my helmet and sent me sliding to the edge of the road.Luckily we were all going so slowly that I didn't crash but the harsh reality of what had nearly happened hit home when the RV didn't even slow down.I do not think that the driver saw me at all and the thought that I could have easily been run down had me stop at the top of the hill,unhitch my trailer and stick my thumb out in search of a ride to Beaver Creek still some 22kilometers away.I had read on a sign behing me that there was possibly 184 kilometers of road work ahead of me and I was having none of it.
I stood on the side of the road for about an hour and a half before realising that nobody even remotely looked like picking me up so it was time for plan B.I had already changed into my running shoes and as the rain started to fall I hooked up my trailer again and started to walk the next section of gravel which started another 100 meters or so away.The little sign at the end of the pavement told me that this was gravel section number 67 and after riding the 300 meters in between this and the next,which read number 66 I realised just how much gravel there was to negotiate.Holy Crap!!!
As I had been advised by a friends Facebook post a day or so earlier I decided to tuurn a negative into a positive and took the time to enjoy my surrounds and even though it was raining quite heavily during the three long hours of my trek I didn't mind it at all.Clearly my hopes of making it toWhite River that day were now gone but thanks to a long paved section I arrived at the "official"border crossing at around 7pm and then the town of Beaver Creek shortly after.I had covered just under 190 kilometers for the day and was happy with that given the circumstances,what was really going to make me happy was something to eat and across the road from where I was standing was the culinary haven of Beaver Creek, the world famous(as the signs advertised) Buckshot Bettys Cafe! Ha ha ha I still can't say it without laughing a little inside...Welcome to the Yukon!
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