Port Clemens - Queen Charlottes
Nice. My coffee, the day, the journey, the dream. Here I am living a dream -- cycling the Charlottes. It is on list I created a few years ago of "top things I would love to do". And here I am. Breathing it in deeply-- as one must when smelling a garden rose that you cannot take with you.
The day is incredible. Blue sky, sun, a little breeze off the ocean. The terrain is flat and the landscape magical. Off the highway, eagles sit perched on totems and majestic trees.
They look down like ancient sentinels on their kingdom far below. Towering spruces and cedars line the roads, blessing the passing cyclist with shade and shelter. Early this morning we passed a naked woman getting out of her outdoor bath and sauntering back across her mossy lawn to her doorstep. "Only in the Charlottes!" we said to ourselves.
Andrew and I met a wise old man on the ferry. A veteran of countless cycling kilometers he had insight after insight to share. His bike was a holy testament to the art of packing, traveling and cycling. Photos were immediately taken of his marvelous handiwork. To most eyes, untrained in such arts, the bike might appear a most 'unslick' hand-made cockney of bike add-ons. To our eyes it was a wondrous series of ergonomic and practical solutions to countless cycling packing and traveling challenges that we ourselves had long pondered.
He shared his great wisdom to us young travelers just on the outset of our journey. He was on the beginning of his own-- his second cross Canada traverse. Here's the whopper... he was 76 years old! According to his doctor, if he continued on with carefully managed diet and heart-rate conscious cycling, he would only age one year for every two that passed. We managed to do 120 kilometres that day. He did 246!!!
Could the limitations of age be an illusion of the mind?
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